


Home is where the Heart is

by lilacSkye



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Depressed Xander, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ensemble Cast, Eventual Romance, Families of Choice, Implied Leo/Takumi, Implied Scarlet/Ryoma, Multi, Mutual Pining, Naive Corrin, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot relevant OC, Pls check eventual additional TWs at the top of each chapter, Rating May Change, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Revelations, tbf Garon is a TW on legs, you know it's gonna be a bad time when he shows up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-11-16 17:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacSkye/pseuds/lilacSkye
Summary: The battle in Valla is over, yes, but that doesn't mean all has been magically solved and is suddenly well. The road to peace is a long and winding one, and even more so when the war inside Corrin's heart rages to the point it can't be ignored any longer.Post-Revelations Divergence AU, in which Valla doesn't get reinstated. Fem!Corrin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloo! Skye here!
> 
> A quick intro: I actually don't know much of FE in general, as I never really played a game for myself (tho I'm planning to get Echoes very soon, I've heard good things about that game and I'm really itching to play). One day, after listening to ten different covers of Lost in Thoughts All Alone for months, I decided to check out a gameplay of Fates, at least for a more detailed context than the one a friend who has the game had provided me.
> 
> Big Mistake.
> 
> I absolutely fell in love with the game - which has some glaring issues, yes, but that doesn't make it any less enjoyable to my eyes - and even more so with the Nohr royals and retainers. They're such complicated and interesting characters, I feel like the way the games were structured didn't really make them justice.
> 
> And then, all of a sudden, fic idea happened, kicking me out of writer's block. It's still pretty vague at parts, I'll admit, and I usually don't post stories I haven't thoroughly planned scene by scene, but as soon as I opened the document the words just kept flowing and I knew I had to go with it. So here it is, chapter 1, in hopes you'll like it! Don't be afraid of leaving constructive criticism, it helps me staying motivated and to improve!

Silence falls.

It crashes and washes through the ruined hall like a waterfall, deafening and crushing, once Anankos's last shuddering breath withers away, a roll of thunder of a dying storm which has been raging through this land for far too long.

Silence falls. The pillars crack and creak, fine dust pouring from the gashes in the ancient stone, ticking the time.

Silence falls, astonished and triumphant in a way no victory march could ever compare. Corrin feels frozen on the spot, her weary bones still rattling at the sound of Anankos's dying wail, the Yato - no, the Fire Emblem - clasped tightly in her trembling hand. Slowly, so slowly, she turns her head to cast a glance to her companions and she sees the same wary disbelief painted in the wide eyes and slack jaws of the handful of men and women who had been brave enough to believe, to challenge, to leap in the dark abyss.

It strikes her in that moment, in the deadly silence that follows their victory, that they probably never believed they would come out victorious in this fight, that they would survive this encounter.

It strikes her in that moment, that _she_ never did.

The silence stretches, loops around her throat, crushes her windpipe as it whispers the same question in her ear, over and over again.

_And now what?_

But before the silence can take hold of her, before quiet fear can submerge her completely, a voice of silk and water dispels the silence.

“You made it, Corrin.”

Corrin whirls around, giving her back to the spot Anankos had been standing in moments prior. Her back tingles, a spot between her shoulder blades burn as instinct shouts at her, scolds her for her naivety with Xander's voice, and for a second she's paralyzed, expecting an attack that will never come; but then her eyes meet Azura's, ruby against gold, and the silence drowns in the wide smile splitting the Vallite princess's elegant features in half. She feels her own face shift, and a mirroring smile morphs into existence without any need for her input.

“Yes, we made it. We're free.”

It's as though they had been waiting for her to come out and say it, pronounce her judgment. The silence dies in the gleeful cheers of Elise and Sakura as they hug and dance, flag colors and clothing styles utterly forgotten in their joy, and burns to cinders in the spreading, roaring wildfire of laughter and clattering weapons as they fall to the ground, one by one, metal on stone singing a staccato rhythm to which the two youngest princesses dance and twirl, a song of hope and peace.

It takes nothing for Corrin to be engulfed and pulled under the celebrations. She lets people pull her into hugs, regardless of the color and shape of their armor, she allows them pat her in the back, and she doesn't complain even when it feels like her spine is splintering under the force of their blows, but simply smiles wider as their ragtag group of heroes of every social status and country starts moving, leading the way back, out in the open, out of the silence.

They're on the threshold of the wide, decaying hall when she catches a glimpse of the one shadow who has been awkwardly standing at the edge of the impromptu party, teetering just out of reach as though uncertain whether or not should he dare try to join in, whether he would be able to blend in - to fit in - or if the inky black of the suit of armor he dons like a second skin would stain and smudge the happy picture unfolding in front of his eyes. Siegfried still rests in his hand, but his fingers are lax around the hilt, as though torn between the instinct to grip it and his will to drop it. The split tip of the blade droops lazily, scrapes against the stone tiles in a soft, tired cry nobody hears over the sound of the jubilant hollers and bellows of retainers and nobles demanding for a full fledged party at camp.

Trapped in the very middle of the bubble of joy surrounding her, Corrin watches as Xander finally turns his back on the moving victory march, his cape swishing like bloodied water behind him, and trudges away in the darkest corner of the hall, exhaustion - a tiredness that goes beyond the mere physical strain - blatant in his slow, dragging steps. Corrin can only watch, her smile dimming and panic rising in her chest, Xander fall heavily to a knee, head bowed and Siegfried propped at his side against the ground like a crutch.

Corrin's eyes go wide and her mouth is already parted, teeth clenched and tongue hissing on the harsh sound of his name, her hand stretched back when Camilla appears in front of her and wraps her own hands around it, warm purple swallowing black, her lithe but firm frame shielding the sight of Xander's huddled form from prying eyes - Corrin's eyes.

Camilla smiles sweetly at her, but Corrin catches sight of something bitter - something _sad_ \- simmering at the bottom of burgundy eyes that have seen too much.

“Don't worry, darling, he'll catch up later.”

Corrin's retort dies on her lips and Camilla grabs her chance to strengthen her hold on her arm so she can sweep Corrin out of the room, out of this forsaken castle with its ruined paintings and halls, where only shadows dwell, ever regretful, ever doubting, ever wondering.

Before Corrin can get stained and pulled in by the looming darkness, Camilla drags her away, to the light and safety she belongs to.

* * *

It takes hours for camp to finally quiet down, sleep settling in when exhaustion, perhaps a little aided by the flowing alcohol, finally tips the scale against the triumph and lulls the tents into a silence which is not tense and alarmed but languid and satisfied. Peeking her head out of her tent, Corrin grins to herself at the sight of the sleeping mixed camp, truly, finally peaceful for the first time since it came to life.

She fully slips past the flap and steps onto the lush grass, the emerald blades tickling the soles of her bare feet in the most soothing of manners, and it feels like a greeting, a welcome back. The breeze, delicate and chill just the right amount to be refreshing without forcing her to fetch a coat to throw over her short-sleeved night gown, tangles and brushes her hair, kisses the silvery tresses like a mother braiding her daughter's hair for the first time.

A pang of melancholy lathers her tongue, thick and deliciously bittersweet. Mother. The word sounds foreign to her, having had no practice as a child to test the syllables roll out her lips, but as she thinks of Mikoto she knows it's just the right one. Their moments together might have fleeting, stolen instants, their memories together wiped from Corrin's brain like dandelion seeds scattered by a breeze, but that doesn't mean they weren't real. The connection between them, the love and affection in Mikoto's eyes, of a mother for her daughter, she wishes she could drown in them every day.

But perhaps that's what makes them so special, she ponders as she slowly wanders out of camp, her gown slithering against the grass with every step she takes towards the lake nearby. Perhaps, basking every day in that affection would soon take away the magic, make her grow entitled to it. Perhaps, for the sake of Mikoto's memory she has vowed to cherish from now on, it is better this way.

The water is cold where it licks at her ankles, the hem of her gown now thoroughly dark and damp and heavy as it soaks and floats around her, swaying softly with the gentle ebbing of the water.

Home. A word that is familiar in form and sound, but not in meaning. Not anymore. Not when there's so many inflections and interpretations to it, and the meaning changes with every different idyom and accent. Corrin has never been particularly proficient at languages after all; that is Elise's most prominent talent, second only to her skill to save lives. Corrin would be lying if she claimed she never wished to share Elise's ability to take up accents and languages like they were nothing, to allow her endless cheer and curiosity to breach through language and cultural barriers like they weren't even there. Leo can put up tough front and chide Elise for her childish behavior all he wants, but Corrin sees the proud spark in his eyes when Elise suddenly switches to another language during their conversation, just enough to throw him off balance.

As she slowly kneels into the water, her gown spreading and blooming in a watery halo around her form, her thoughts take a turn that had become horribly familiar in these past months. Her soft smile dims as jealousy towards her little sister - and yet not sister - seeps into her chest and poisons the little bubble of joy their victory had brought forth.

Family.

Home.

Belonging.

Things she thought she had, with her Nohrian siblings.

Things she had thought she'd earn back, with her Hoshidan brothers and sisters.

She reaches down and spoons up a handful of clear water in her cupped palms.

No matter the choice she'd take, they would unavoidably slip from her grasp like water trickles through the gaps between her fingers, like words whispered against a windstorm, like lightning streaking the clouded sky.

Her now empty hands curl into fists and slam down; a million droplets soar into the air for a split second, and a million Corrins stare back at her in their reflection.

Her jaws tightens as the corners of her eyes burn with longing for something she doesn't know the name of. She rises her chin and fully takes in the scenery in front of her.

Valla. Her kingdom. Her home. Her birthright she has conquered back, a ruined expanse of land that rests in a whole another dimension from the one she has always lived in, where hidden truths lie, never to be revealed again.

Her kingdom, they say. Her home, they say.

Her grave, she says.

She tries, though. Tries desperately to see the beauty in this ravaged land inhabited by nobody, to see familiar shapes in the trees or ruins or find familiar scents in the winds. Sometimes, if she tries hard enough, she thinks she can hear the sound of a laughing voice, a man with a laughter full of care and love, softer than Xander's, kinder than Ryoma's.

She tries to picture him, from time to time. Ruby red eyes, like hers, are always the starting point, and the one feature her poor creative skills are not budging on. All throughout their journey across Valla, Sakura has gone to great lengths to provide her with many papers, beautifully crafted sketches of a man with soft features and pointy ears and scarlet eyes. The hair and clothes change shape and color with every clone of the mystery man, but the fond smile in his eyes stays the same.

_”If-If you can't remember, I-I will keep going on un-until I get him right. I-I swear I will help you, big sister!!”_

Her heart clenches at the thought of the stack of sketches lying on her desk, wondering if she can find her father in the trace of a brush and ink on parchment and she can't even recognize him.

Something rustles behind her, delicate feet pad through the grass. Any other time she would have bolted to a defense position, clutching her sword or her dragon stone or _both_ , but the steps are quiet and yet not silent, an announcement rather than an attack, and the tension in her shoulders ease. Then a voice whispers in the night.

“ _You are the ocean's grey waves…_ ”

Corrin smiles as Azura inches closer, her bare feet wading the shallow water with a grace Corrin could never hope to even come close to. She's reminded, for the briefest moment, of that one memorable first encounter at the lake in Hoshido, where fate’s wheel set in motion under the setting sun and never stopped again.

Corrin's memory is not admittedly the best, but she distinctly remembers thinking the girl of the lake gave off an otherworldly aura, with her unusual sapphire hair and jaded eyes of gold that stared at an another level of reality. A beauty of another world tinted of loneliness and sadness, and she'd felt instantly drawn to this girl in a way she had never experienced with anybody else before.

The same blood flows through Corrin's and Azura's veins. The same circumstances brought them to Nohr and Hoshido, and then switched them. Corrin had clung to Azura like a drowning woman to a lifeline, had grasped tightly at the string of fate binding them together to keep herself grounded, to keep moving forward.

Corrin allows the song to wash over her, a soothing balm for her restless, aching soul as th entrancing notes flow past Azura's lips and strike at her heart. She barely dares to breathe and just listens to a song as ancient as time, an intangible relic of a past Corrin she holds no memory of.

“ _...Lost in thoughts, all alone._ ” Azura finishes with a graceful twirl, speckles of water dancing around her. She sinks to her knees in the water, beside Corrin, and she finally smiles up at her. “Isn't that what you're doing?”

Despite herself, Corrin snickers. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Couldn't sleep?”

Corrin hears the unspoken ‘you too’, but she doesn't acknowledge it. She shrugs. “No. It was… too quiet.”

It's too quiet, and the noises of the questions in her head, the choice she postponed and now she has to face are yelling at each other in her head.

Azura's eyes narrow ever so slightly, and not for the first time Corrin wonders whether she can read people's minds.

Most likely it's just Corrin being very predictable and readable.

“Do you want to stay?”

Corrin's focus shifts once again to the empty land surrounding her. Nobody has inhabited these fields, this whole dimension, for decades. There's nothing worth to be tied with in this land. Nothing familiar to call home.

This will always be Azura's home, Corrin reasons. She grew up cradling the knowledge of Valla, the memories of her mother and father dancing in the royal gardens held tight to her chest. Valla is part of Azura, and Azura will always be part of Valla.

But Corrin… Corrin owns nothing of Valla. Wouldn't even know of its existence had she not been told.

There is nothing for her here.

Slowly, she shooks her head. Azura sighs, and she sounds unsurprised, almost relieved.

“You have a tough choice in front of you. Again.” The Vallite princess chuckles with her melodious voice of snow and raindrops and lays a delicate hand over Corrin's shoulder, squeezing lightly. “But I'm sure your heart will always know the right answer.”

Azura's gaze is full of fondness and pride, and Corrin can't stand it. She hurries to avert her eyes and instead hangs her head low, stares at the Corrin in the watery surface, rippling and broken and scared.

“I… I never really thought of… what would happen once we beat Anankos. What to do next.”

It hurts to admit it out loud. It stings and leaves a bitter taste in her mouth as she hears Leo and Takumi's teasing snickers in the back of her mind, their remarks that a good tactician should always plan three moves ahead.

Azura shakes her head, her grip on Corrin's shoulder growing slightly tighter. A faraway look crosses her features.

“Neither did I.”

They stand there as a companionable silence wraps itself securely around them, only broken by the whistling breeze and leaves and rocking waters.

“You're going back to Hoshido, aren't you?” Corrin asks, her voice thick with emotions she doesn't want to dwell onto.

“Yes.” Azura's reply is nearly instantaneous. Her voice is as soft as always, but her eyes are hard and unwavering. She clearly did not forget the abysmal treatment the Nohrian court used to reserve for her, and neither she did forgive. Corrin nods, not knowing what to say to that.

“And you're returning to Nohr.”

Azura doesn't ask, she states. States it as though it's the most obvious choice, like there's no doubt. Corrin flinches and hunches her shoulders protectively, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. From what she feels she has to protect herself from, she doesn't know.

She expects Azura to protest, object, try to make her see reason, to convince her. So when the older princess opens her mouth to speak and takes a breath, Corrin panics.

“It's just that… Nohr is by far the one who was most damaged by Anankos's schemes. I… I want to be there to help my-”

The word _siblings_ gets stuck in her throat, and she nearly chokes.

“I mean, Xander and the others. Nohr really needs all the helping hands it can get. And then,” she takes a deep breath to calm herself. “Then there will be finally peace.”

She doesn't dare to look at Azura straight in the eye. Will she think Corrin is abandoning her? Will she scorn Corrin for choosing the same court that had mistreated Azura so badly over her own blood?

But Azura does not do any of those things. Her hand slides down to wrap itself around Corrin's and squeezes, delicate and playful, and Corrin knows she's not being forgiven because there's nothing to forgive in the first place.

So when she does dare to meet Azura's eyes and finds her beaming - or at least, as close as Azura's usually aloof countenance can get to beaming - Corrin is not really surprised.

“As long as it's your own choice, the path you walk on will always be the right one.”

A timid smile curls the corners of Corrin's mouth. “... Will you walk it with me?”

And as Azura finally abandons her composure and pulls Corrin close into her arms - so close, so gentle - Corrin can't help but feel like she's finally home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, chapter 2 was quick. I hope it's as enjoyable to read as it was to write it, I don't deny it's been pretty fun. Still badly written, cause I can't write to save my life but hey, I'm trying.

It's with a heavy gait, and even heavier heart, that the Crown Prince of Nohr turns his back on his celebrating allies and seeks refuge in the darkest corner of the ruined hall. The sword in his hand lies down and drags and screams against the stone floor, begs for rest, longs to join its brothers and sisters of silver and steel as the pang happily to the ground.

Instead, Xander's grip on Siegfried tightens and his steps grow longer, his stride more determined.

_Not just yet._

His eyes scan the familiar darkness, search for a glint or a spindly shape amidst the expanse of black he would recognize everywhere. And then they find it, right against the wall, a contorted and splintered mass of black metal vaguely shaped like woven thorns and pointed spears.

He falls to a knee, Siegfried propped against the floor at his side, and with a hand of lead he hooks his gauntleted fingers around the thin metal to lift it from the ground. It's light in his palm, and yet the weight that settles in his chest is unbearable.

The victory march at his back drifts away, the hollered songs and jubilant shouts grow more and more distant as the little army Corrin has gathered retreats. He knows a few gazes linger on his still form, whether concerned or distrustful he can't tell and doesn't bother to try, but nobody calls him back, and for that he is immensely grateful. Camilla probably has a hand in that, and he makes a mental note to properly express his gratitude to her on a later time.

Slowly, he lets Siegfried slip from his grip and drop to the ground with a deafening, defeated clatter. Just as slowly, finding peace and comfort in the familiar gesture, he undoes the many, leathery harnesses keeping his clawed gauntlet fastened to his right arm. The piece of armor quickly joins Siegfried on the floor, where it lies, dead and unmoving.

His mouth dries and his throat tightens as he runs a gloved thumb along the mangled metal, traces what remains of the royal crest amidst a bundle of misshapen thorns and cracked spines. The two, elegant strings of black gold that used to embrace his father's broad and wise forehead like a halo are now broken, the tips brutally cleaved off from the impact, leaving only edges as sharp as blades ready to dig and tear into skin until they taste blood. The drop-shaped ruby that used to dangle just below the crest, the representation of the Dusk Dragon's watchful eye, is nowhere to be seen. The short chain most likely snapped the moment the crown fell from Garon's head during Anankos's attack.

Xander is no expert, but has seen his fair share of swords and armors being broken and repaired, and he knows even the most formidable blacksmith Nohr has to offer will not be able to fix the garbled tangle of iron and gold in his hand. Broken beyond repair like the man who last wore it, the crown which had sat at the head of countless kings and queens, Xander's proud and glorious ancestors, has to be melted and reforged anew.

His hand trembles as he brings the broken relic of a past he has failed time and time again to his forehead, the question that has been buzzing at the back of his mind for quite some time - for years, decades - now rising in volume and drowning all other thoughts.

_Why?_

What was the reason for this massacre? For all these years of corruption and useless cruelty? Was Father's madness solely Anankos's responsibility, or had Father willingly bowed to the fallen dragon's spell, all sense of honor and pride and justice forgone in his unquenchable thirst for blood and destruction?

Who had spoken that fateful night in the throne room, Anankos or Garon?

A violent shudder runs down his spine, makes his teeth clatter painfully together.

But alas, these are foolish musings, with no aim or purpose to themselves beside making Xander's heart heavier and and his resolve weaker. There is no point in dwelling over questions that will never have an answer. Father is gone, has been long gone, but the wounds he inflicted on Nohr and its people - here Xander tries very hard not to think about his family, his siblings, but his heart is weak and treacherous and the faces of all his brothers and sisters, both alive and dead, flash in the forefront of his mind - are still open and deep, festering and decaying with every second Xander wastes pondering over meaningless what ifs and perhapses.

Pain sets his nerves alight as his fingers curl around the jagged thorns and the sharp spikes dig into the flesh of his palm, deep enough to draw blood through the thick leather of his glove; he reaches down to pick Siegfried and the discarded gauntlet, his knees trembling despite himself as they struggle to support the invisible weight pressing down on him from above. He absently wonders how long will it take for his bones to finally shatter and give way under its unrelenting force, and whether he'll be able to shove Camilla, Leo, Elise and Corrin out of the way - to safety - before it crashes down on them all.

He stands, and there is nothing regal in his hunched posture - shameful and weak, he can still hear Father's booming voice, twenty years younger but not any less intimidating, reprimand him - or in the loose grip around Siegfried's hilt. His gaze wanders, flits around what once had to be a truly majestic throne room, far wider and better lit than the one in Nohr, until it settles to the gaping hole in the wall where Anankos had made its last stand, after it swallowed Garon whole.

He looks up at the darkened sky, so reminiscent of Nohr's ever lasting night and yet so different, and he surprises himself when his scattered and twirling musings take an unexpected turn to someone he had barely allowed himself to think for longer than a decade. Below him, the mass of people bringing Corrin in triumph spills from the wide archway at the castle's entrance. Her platinum blond head, easily recognizable even from this height, glints joyfully in the moonlight, and at the sight his hold on the crown grows tighter as a plead escapes his lips.

“Mother, guide my steps.”

* * *

The trek back through Valla's territory to the Bottomless Canyon, though no longer infested by those pesky undead soldiers of Anankos, still takes three more weeks to their ragtag army. Had they not kept sending scouts ahead for the entire duration of the journey the army, still tired but reinvigorated by the victory and the lack of any enemy in sight, would have proceeded to a much more quicker pace, but both Xander and Ryoma expressed their worry for some lingering troops and traps Anankos might or might not have set up before his demise, and Corrin wholeheartedly agreed to keep scouting ahead to avoid any unwanted incident. She would much rather getting there slower, but alive.

That, and she's starting to feel a certain sadness at the prospect of splitting up. Although tensions between Nohrians and Hoshidans never truly quelled, there is no questioning some sort of bond, of camaraderie, is blossoming between the two parties as they grow more and more unguarded and welcoming towards each other with every passing day.

Soldiers mingle now, exchange liquor or recipes or training techniques. Laslow and Subaki once kept the whole camp entertained for an hour as they sparred, a flurry of fluid movements and awe-inspiring dodges that had Corrin gasp and sigh in amazement every three seconds, and it's not uncommon to find Elise, Sakura, Hana and Effie huddled together in some corner of camp, playing whatever game Elise concocted that day or simply watching Hana and Effie spar. On top of that, Odin - aided by Hinata - will always be all too happy to offer his epic recount of the daily chess and shogi matches between Leo and Takumi, much to his liege's embarrassment and Niles's coy amusement.

The only one who doesn't seem willing to mix in with the crowd is Xander, to absolutely nobody's surprise.

Corrin freely admits it was a childish pipe dream to hope Anankos's defeat would finally break him out of his shell and allow him to openly show the kinder, softer side of himself that she saw time and time again within the safety of the Northern Fortress's walls, but never she had stopped to consider he might actually get _worse_ : he barely gets out of his tent by now, and when he does he always keeps to himself, quiet and imposing like a shadow, the forbringer of an impending disaster. It's been days since Corrin last spoke to him directly - something trivial about logistics she can't really recall - and whenever she catches Camilla or Leo emerging from his tent, their faces grim and jaws set, they are both quick to outmaneuver her inquiries away from their older brother.

By now, the only time she manages to catch a glimpse of him is during marching time, while he's busy barking orders to keep formation and the guard up to the soldiers on the right flank, and she can't say she likes what she sees. They all are tired - heck, Corrin herself feels ready to fall asleep for a thousand years once she gets home, possibly on a proper mattress instead of a bedroll - but she's fairly sure nobody is quite as exhausted as Xander, whose already pale complexion is now bordering on sickly as wide, dark circles surround bloodshot eyes like a poisonous miasma, and a permanent frown wrinkles his brow and mouth, making him appear at least ten years older than he is.

Of course, he does not allow his body to betray how weary he truly feels in front of the soldiers; his form never falters once as he takes the lead of the Nohrian wing of the army, all straight back and squared shoulders and lifted chin, but Corrin knows where to look to see past his facade, and notices his grip on his horse's reins is quite a bit tighter than strictly necessary.

She longs to ask what is weighting on his mind, to beg to share at least a few of his countless burdens with her, but whenever their eyes meet a dark fire blazes in his eyes and her breath hitches, the words she wants to voice suddenly ash on her tongue. Then he turns his back on her and gallops away, and the moment is lost.

So the days pass, and the excited buzzing at camp grows with every mile they gain just as Corrin's heart sinks lower. She does not speak of her troubles and concerns regarding the Nohrian siblings to the Hoshidan, of course. They might have forged a sense of companionship over this last months, but Corrin is not quite naive enough to think all traces of animosity between them is suddenly gone. They have no real reason to find their former archenemy's odd behavior worrisome, as long as they're sure he's not going to attack them.

And yet, sometimes, when she finds herself staring at Xander's cold, retreating back, she thinks she sees Ryoma's gaze closely following hers, just before he closes the distance and pulls her away towards his tent in the Hoshidian side of camp.

She wonders if he knows something she doesn't, but never dares to ask. Whether she hopes or fears an affirmative response to that question, she doesn't know herself.

The day trudge by, hours upon hours of relentless marching through bare lands and ancient ruins, until finally they spot their goal.

“So, you say this rift is going to bring us back to our world?” Corrin says as she carefully walks up to the edge of what is seemingly an endless pit. A chill draft, of a different quality compared to the pleasant breeze permeating Valla's refreshing weather, wafts up from the fathomless depths, causing her hair and cloak to billow behind her. She kneels on the rocky pavement and squints into the darkness, but there's nothing in sight for miles and miles. A shiver runs down her spine, and she can only hope it's not too noticeable from where the rest of the troops are gathered, fifteen feet behind her. She can feel their silent gazes pinning her down, stabbing her between her shoulder blades.

“Yes,” Azura easily falls into step with her, utterly unfazed by the unfaltering attention she's under. Corrin looks up at her, but Azura's attention is focused solely on the Vallite Bottomless Canyon, her features set in an emotionless mask. “Just like it happened when we jumped the Bottomless Canyon, this place is the one portal which will carry us back to our world.” She flinches slightly at her own choice of words.

The wind from below grows stronger, a warning and a lure at the same time. Corrin does her best to ignore the foreboding feeling gnawing at her insides. For an insane heartbeat, she seriously contemplates staying in Valla.

Someone coughs behind the two princesses, claiming their attention. Corrin raises to her feet and turns, only to see Leo approaching them with wary steps.

“Please, wait a moment, Azura. Assuming there is indeed a magical passage to our dimension at the bottom of the canyon, which I don't doubt, how do we know it is in perfect working conditions?” He says, moving as to stand at Corrin's left. She watches him eye the engulfing darkness below with skepticism and, dare she say, fear. It takes her a while to remember he's never been particularly fond of heights. “Didn't you say the link would close once the skies above Nohr and Hoshido changed?”

Several people fidget as concerned whispering breaks out through the ranks, though it only takes Ryoma and Xander a well-placed glare to quell them and to bring the crowd under control. Corrin blinks as the first tendrils of panic and despair seep through her skin, coiling loosely around her heart.

They can't be stranded here, with no escape. She refuses to believe it, because that would mean she has dragged her family - _both_ her families - down with her and she _can't_ -

Azura nods solemnly, meeting Leo's calculating gaze square on with one of her own. “That is true, Prince Leo. However-” and here she has to rise a hand to call for silence, for the crowd's protests are quickly spinning out of control. “Time flows differently in Valla compared to the dimension Nohr and Hoshido rest in. Whilst it's true the path leading from the Bottomless Canyon to Valla is now sealed, probably forever, the same cannot be said about the other way around.”

“But we've been here for months!” Takumi nearly yells, frustration oozing out of his every pore as he too stalks his way towards the edge of the cliff without an ounce of the attention and elegance Leo has displayed. “Isn't it possible for it to have closed behind our backs while we were busy fending off dead soldier after dead soldier?”

“No,” Azura's tone is quiet but firm. “Your world's time is many months ahead Valla's, a single day here roughly corresponding to a week in Hoshido and Nohr. The equinox has yet to dawna and set over Valla, and judging from the stars’ positions, I daresay it will take at least a fortnight longer for that to take place. The passage leading to your homes is still open.”

Many 'ooh's and 'aah's waft from the crowd as realization dawns upon them; Sakura, Elise and Hinoka visibly relax at once along with the rest of the troops, but Corrin's keen draconic senses catch the way Xander and Camilla stiffen, eyes hard and mouth pulled in a thin grim line, and how Ryoma is quick to steal a subtle, but not any less meaningful, glance to the Nohrian Crown Prince. He goes blatantly ignored, at first sight, but upon further inspection Corrin sees Xander's form growing even tauter and rigid, the reins threatening to snap in his fingers.

Most suspicious, indeed.

However, now they have more pressing matters to deal with. She turns to Azura.

“Didn't you once say you used to come here through water? Why can't we do the same?”

Azura's stoic expression finally cracks as a veil of sadness washes over her face. “I'm sorry, Corrin, but only those who carry the blood of Anankos in their veins can activate the royal song's spell and make use of water as a passage.” Her nimble hands drift down to clench over the pendant hanging by her neck. Corrin guesses Arete must have given it to her before she died, the last insignia of Azura's Vallite royal bloodline.

Corrin finds herself wishing she too had something of her mother's to hold onto.

“I see.” She says instead and hurries to avert her eyes before they start burning. Now is really not the time to drown in bitter thoughts, not with everyone present and murmuring. She glances at Leo and Takumi: they both are looking straight at her, arms crossed in front of their chest and two identical sets of unimpressed arched eyebrows. It's ironic how similar they truly can be, once they find a common enemy that lasts enough to allow them to stop spouting more or less veiled insults and jabs at each other.

Corrin cannot allow the still timid - but definitely present - friendship to wither away, locked within a wasteland with no life or hope to be salvaged. She takes a step closer to the edge, relishing in the pain as the sharp rock dig into the sole of her feet.

“Well, then there is only one way. Down.”

“Corrin, please consider the risks-”

“Leo, there is no other way,” Corrin cuts him off sharply, too sharply. Her stomach churns when Leo flinches and his eyes flutter close in well-practiced resignation. “I trust Azura. We've seen first hand the truth of her words, no matter how much outlandish and out of the world they sounded. She knows Valla better than all of us combined, and if she says the path has yet to close on this side then I will trust her judgment. After all the pains we've been through, we cannot dither here.”

Silence follows her words. Leo nods stiffly and takes a step back, which Corrin supposes is meant to be interpreted as him stepping down and submitting to her authority. The sense of guilt grows tenfold as she watches his eyebrows pinch in what seems to be pure agony for a split second, only for his face to return to his emotionless state a heartbeat later. The shift is so quick Corrin wonders if it was real or if she just imagined it.

Heavy, armored steps break the silence, rhythmic and confident as Corrin most definitely is not feeling.

“Well said, sister!” Ryoma's deep voice thunders as he reaches out to clamp a hand over her shoulder, giving it an almighty squeeze through the puffy and flimsy fabric of her blouse. Corrin feels like the bone is splintering under the pressure of his grasp, but all thoughts of pain are forgotten when he peers down at her and pride flickers so blatantly in his eyes and soft smile. “We have all decided to trust you to the bitter end, and you haven't led us astray once ever since. Give us the order, and Hoshido will follow right behind you.”

Takumi's soft scoff is drowned by the roar wafting from the Hoshidan's troops as their voices rise and weapons clang together, chanting Ryoma and Corrin's name like a victory song. Among them, Corrin spots her retainers join in the choir, tired but radiant and proud. Felicia keeps sniffling and wiping at her eyes with the ends of her sleeves.

Corrin can't help but smile as her heart swells and threatens to spread wings to soar out of her chest, but her little bubble of unbridled joy bursts when her eyes roam the much more subdued Nohrian ranks and finds that Xander hasn't moved from his spot, isn't even acknowledging her or the racket coming from the Hoshidan's soldiers. He's not even looking at her; his eyes are closed, a deep frown wrinkling his brow and tightening at the corner of his mouth.

It's not until the Hoshidans have quieted down and more than a few Nohrians have thrown him expectant looks - Elise even goes as far as to softly calling for him, and Corrin doesn't understand why she sounds so sad and defeated, so unlike her - that Xander finally speaks, slow and careful and detached, like he's reciting a speech he has spent hours rehearsing.

“Of course, you have Nohr's support as well, Corrin.” He says with hardly any inflection in his voice; with an uncomfortable jolt, Corrin realizes this is the first time he's directly addressing and speaking to her in weeks. “The path ahead might look arduous and hazardous, and although we can't be certain it will not completely be deprived of risks,” and here he shoots a pointed glance at Leo, who lowers his head, his long bangs falling over his eyes and hiding them from view. “it is also our only available option at the moment. If you claim to be ready to put your faith in Azura's advice, then we all shall do so as well.”

In another time, under better circumstances, Corrin would have felt honored beyond belief to hear Xander, who she has spent looking up to as long as she remembers being alive, claim he is going to trust her with his life so completely. As it stands now, with the dispassionate tone and stoic mask shielding the real Xander from her view, she just feels a deep, bitter sadness cleave her chest in two, heavier and deeper than any sword can do.

Several Hoshidans do not bother to conceal the plain disdain on their faces as Xander's words wash over them, and Hinoka even huffs in annoyance.

“That was stone cold,” she says in a whisper that carries all too well. Corrin does not miss the positively incinerating look Camilla throws at Hinoka, or the wounded flinch of Elise, but Xander pretends he didn't hear the blatant insult and just allows it to slide.

She feels her throat tighten and nods as Xander dismounts in a swift, fluid motion and walks up to where Leo is standing. Distant, unfeeling, cold, the very polar opposite of Ryoma, whose warm hand is still resting on her shoulder. A part of her, the most childish and spoiled one - the one who sounds a little like Elise - feels slightly disappointed Xander isn't even trying to put up a fight with Ryoma for her affections, for the right of being called her brother.

She's tempted to lunge at him, grab him by the cravat and demand to know what in the world is wrong, why is he being so standoffish towards her - or anyone, for that matter, with the only difference being she isn't used to Xander behave any different than his usual gentle and kind self in her presence, unlike everyone else - but then her mature side finally kicks in and the urge is promptly quelled, vanished under the disguise of a fake smile and a nod.

Once they part with the Hoshidans and they make it back to Nohr, she'll get some answers from him. For now, she should not overstep her boundaries in front of Ryoma and his people.

“Alright, then it's settled.” she declares to the expectant army as she gently disentangles herself from Ryoma's grasp. In the crowd, her eyes meet Silas's and he winks at her, a playful grin curling his lips at the corners. Beside him, Kaze nods with a shallow bow. “Everyone, get ready! We're jumping!”

Everyone moves at her command, boots stomping over rock and hooves stumbling forward across the uneven terrain, until they are standing in a line, the Nohrians on Corrin's left and the Hoshidan on Azura's right, with Corrin and Azura right in the middle. The flying units hover above them, ready to dive in at Corrin's word, the lazy flapping of their powerful wings ticking the seconds. A few more flaps, just a few more moments of unity, before Corrin has to give the order.

A gauntleted hand slithers down to cradle her left, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. Heart thundering in her ears, she glances up to find a smiling Silas.

“Don't worry, Corrin. No matter what happens next, I- no, _we_ are never leaving your side. We're going to make it through, together.”

The words, a whisper so low she can barely hear, are like a balm to her frayed nerves. She lets them sink into her consciousness, allows them to go and fill the void that has been growing since Xander and Camilla started acting more and more distant, and clings to them desperately, a lifeline in a storm.

She smiles and squeezes back and, for the first time since they left Anankos's palace, she allows herself to believe things are going to be alright.

“Now!!”

She fully abandons herself to gravity's pull, and plummets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, writing Xander is a bloody nightmare. He's probably OOC as hell, I know, I'll try my best to keep him in character in the future T_T let me know your thoughts, or if something is not clear! I'll try to answer at the best of my abilities


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not particularly proud of this chapter, especially towards the end. You can probably tell writing in present tense is not really my field, and on top of that I can't really write dialogue... So, yeah, add the fact I can't handle more than three characters interacting at the same time and you have the recipe of a literary disaster in your hand.
> 
> Also, did I mention I love Scarlet and Hinoka (I know, unpopular opinion lol)?? Cause I do. A lot.

By the gods, Corrin swears she'll never get used to it.

No matter how many times she jumps, there is just no getting accustomed to the lack of support beneath her feet, to the furious wind rushing and howling into her ears, so loud she can't even hear her thoughts anymore, to the queasiness as her organs struggle to keep their position inside her body, her heart leaping in her throat as though it wants to physically leave her chest and get back to safety.

Corrin gasps, though the sound is immediately swallowed whole by the wind, and scrunches her watering eyes close when the air whipping her face becomes too unbearable to keep them open. She does not need to look over her shoulder to know Silas and Azura are right behind her, as Kaze, Felicia and Jakob follow suit; everyone else trails behind, she can only assume, and she feels rather than hears the screeches of the wyverns and the whinnies of the pegasi and horses as their riders dive and leap straight into the bottomless pit.

With her eyes closed it's easy, too easy, to pretend Scarlet and her wyvern are falling beside her, a flurry of crimson and gold and lilac as a trail of snow-white petals flutters behind her.

Her chest clenches painfully as her mind replays her last booming laugh, full of defiance and confidence, and then morphs it into a pained scream when the last of her life escapes her body, like the petals scatter on the wind.

Bile floods Corrin's mouth and burns at the back of her throat. She remembers the unfeeling weight of Scarlet's limp, lifeless body in her arms, the deathly pallor of her cheeks beneath the golden freckles, the cold settling in her flesh, the pained wailing of her wyvern before it flew off to who knows where. She remembers the sorrow contorting Ryoma's features as he fought her revived corpse, no more than a puppet in Arete's hands, and the single tear escaping his eye as he drove Raijinto right through her chest, piercing her still heart. She does not think she'll ever forget the pain that blossomed in her chest at the sight of Ryoma's hulking figure as he cradled Scarlet's unmoving corpse in his arms with a care and gentleness that should not belong to the proud and mighty warrior he is, as though she was made of the same thin rocks she used to decorate her weapons with, before he lifted her - and she's tiny in his arms, Corrin realizes with a jolt. She's tiny without her brazen attitude and wide grin and overflowing charisma - and delicately laid her to rest in the ground, her glimmering spear proudly planted in the grassy terrain now serving as the only mark to her otherwise nameless, lonely grave in a land she does not belong to.

She deserved better.

She _and_ Gunter both deserved so much better.

Corrin doesn't realize bitter tears are welling up beneath her eyelids until she hears Silas's surprised yell, soon echoed by many others, and when she forces her eyes open, blinking fast as to dispel the mist blurring her sight, she soon understands the reason: a thick wall of silvery fog has appeared from seemingly nowhere and is rising up to meet them at an alarming rate. As the tendrils of vapor coil around her form and soon envelope her in an intangible embrace that leaves goosebumps in its trails, Corrin is assaulted by the now familiar wave of nausea she has learned to associate to traveling between the two dimensional planes. The world grows fuzzy, the rocky walls of the canyon melt into the gray smokes, gravity lets up; for a moment she's floating, utterly weightless, into nothing, neither here nor there, just existing. The fog pressing into her feels concrete as it shifts and slips through her splayed fingers, thicker than air and thinner than water.

She takes a deep breath, lets the fog invade her lungs and swims forward into the unknown. It smells sweet, intoxicating, and with every stroke her body grows lighter, disconnected, as though the gas is physically unlatching the wires connecting her soul to her body, one by one.

Still, although it almost feels like it's too much to be bothered with the effort, she keeps swimming, wades her way through with her arms, kicks forward with her legs. She has got to go back. To get home.

Corrin can't say precisely how long they spent crossing the tricky pathway between the two worlds. It might be hours, maybe days, even months. It feels like she's been swimming forever, but the grey, watery fog is unchanged, no sign of thinning out at all.

She's starting to despair the path had truly closed and that they were forever lost in the middle when, with little no forewarning, a bright light pierces the mist.

Relief fills her to the brim and hope flows to her sore muscles as her limbs kick and flail harder than ever, the fog offering less and less resistance the closer she gets to the light. Closer up, she notices now it has a pulsing quality to it, like a beating heart. The rhythm is entrancing, slow and soothing, and thrums through her bones as she plunges right into it and everything turns white.

Then, cold winds and damp air whip at her face, making her reeling in surprise as her wobbly legs land on hard, slippery rock. Her knees scream in protest; they buckle under her sudden weight and before she knows it she's sprawled on the cold stone path.

It takes her a moment for her wild heart and rushing blood to calm down enough to realize the air has changed quality: it's cold and thicker than in Valla, the wind more biting as a light drizzle coats the sky, lightning flashing in the faraway distance. Slowly, she shakes the dizziness away from her brain and raises to her feet.

They made it. The edge of the Bottomless Canyon, on the border between Nohr and Hoshido, lies behind her, its endless depths just as dark and unfathomable as ever. A wide grin splits her face in two when she sees the now all too familiar bridge connecting the two sides of the abyss and the Hoshidan fort several yards away. To think it all began when Garon ordered her to check that very same fort…

She wonders how long ago that was. Between her askew sense of time, most likely due to having spent so long locked within the same four walls, and the different flow of time between dimensions, she would not be surprised if years have gone by since that fateful day.

Something prickles at the back of her mind, a sense of warning, foreboding and threatening, but it's so vague she can't make heads or tails out of it. She just shrugs and decides to leave it for later. She turns to face her companions as they slowly rise to their feet and smiles widely when realization dawns upon them that they did it, they were home. Several people whoop and clap, even going as far as bear hugging each other with that playful attitude only people who stared death in the face side by side could have. Hinata and Odin are by far among the loudest and most obnoxious, but everyone is just too elated to care.

A pang of sadness stains her glee at the thought of parting from the Hoshidans. After the many months spent together, it is going to feel strange not to hear Takumi bickering with Hinoka for every little, sometimes silly, thing as Sakura tries desperately to break the fight, until Ryoma comes in and sweeps them apart. It's going to feel sad not to listen, hidden away from sight, to Azura humming softly to herself as she bustled from side to side, helping out Sakura and Elise with taking care of the injured or practicing with her naginata.

But she has no time to let her spirits plummet down now, nor any true reason. With the peace treaty on its way, sure it won't be long until she sees them again.

At the very least, she assumes Ryoma's coronation will come up soon. Corrin sure as hell does not want to miss it, for both Ryoma's and her sake. She knows for a fact a festant Hoshido is a true sight to behold; being able to enjoy it at its fullest without underhanded attacks would be most appreciated.

So it's with a smile on her lips that she watches the soldiers divide in two groups as Xander and Ryoma vow to keep peace between their nations, swear on the blood of the ancient dragons that flows in their veins, stern and solemn as they shake each other's hand, black against red, with a grip that could easily crush a boulder; Camilla and Hinoka immediately follow suit, rigid but elegant, then it's Leo’s and Takumi's turn, and lastly Elise and Sakura.

Corrin absentmindedly points to herself how strange it is to witness the usual bubbly Elise behave like a proper lady, for once, and instantly decides she likes Elise better as her permanently excited self. The gods know Nohr needs someone with a shred of positive and cheerful attitude within its bloodstained court.

The addition of the younger siblings to the vow feels a little odd and unnecessary to her, as Corrin thinks Xander's and Ryoma's oaths should have sufficed for any witness, but alas, aside from her sudden burst of experience on the battlefield, it's not like she's that well versed in the working of politics. She assumes the two leaders want to properly stress the strength of the fledgling alliance between the two countries. A vow that shall bind each and every one of them to one another.

Yes, that must be it, a demonstration of trust and faith. She almost wishes she and Azura could participate as well, as Nohrian and Hoshidan princesses respectively, but even Corrin understands why they aren't able to. Perhaps, after they are officially acknowledged as part of Nohr and Hoshido royalty, they will be able to pledge to the peace themselves. She just needs to be a little more patient.

Azura's nervous fidgeting at her side breaks her out of her thoughts. She glances up just in time to catch the older princess cast a wary look in Xander's direction.

“Azura? Is something bothering you?”

Azura shakes her head, though her eyes do not leave the Nohrian royals as they make their way to their waiting soldiers and swiftly climb up their mounts, equine or draconic alike. Azura bites her lip, the tip of her canine digging hard into the soft flesh.

“No, I'm fine. It's just… Xander and his siblings do get truly intense when they set their minds to an objective, don't they?”

Corrin nods vigorously. “Most assuredly. I know they appear cold and uncaring to most people,” her heart clenches as she thinks back to earlier, when Xander had delivered his supposedly uplifting speech in that detached manner. “But in truth, beneath their shell, they're the most passionate and determined people I've ever known. They went out of their way to offer me help and love when I most needed it… and now it's only fair I return the favor in kind.”

Azura's lips curl into a smile that doesn't really reach her eyes. “You truly love them, don't you.”

“Yes,” and the answer comes up to Corrin's lips as easy as breathing. “And I'll never stop doing so. Just like I love you, Ryoma, Hinoka, Takumi and Sakura. You all have a special place in my heart, and I'll never thank the gods enough for allowing our paths to cross once again.”

On impulse, she turns and takes Azura's hands into her own, holding tight, as though hoping all the love she can't put into words somehow can flow through their joined palms and threaded fingers. She used to do this all the time with her Nohrian siblings, whenever they managed to set aside a little of their precious time to pay her a visit at the fortress. Childish, perhaps, but she always liked the idea behind it. Leo had openly teased her about it several times, but his grasp was the strongest of the them all.

The suspicion in Azura's eyes recedes and she returns the grip just as firmly.

“Yes, indeed. And here's to the hope they will cross many more times in the future, for the sake of our wonderful homelands, joined in peace and harmony.”

Corrin chuckles, and it's not without reluctance that she lets go. She takes a few steps back towards the Nohrian troops. Xander is already giving the order to cross the bridge.

“Lady Corrin,” Jakob suddenly appears at her side, and she nearly jumps. He has apparently picked a few tricks from Kaze, because she didn't hear him approaching at all. “We are ready to set out.”

A groan nearly escapes her. She doesn't want it to end just yet. Even if she tells herself that she can't, that it's childish to think this moment could last forever, she can't help but wish these last few moments could last a little longer. Just a little more time in the company of her whole, still living family. Still, she nods.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment.” Then she addresses Kaze, lingering a step behind Jakob and flanked by Silas and Felicia. The four of them have become unexpectedly close-knit over time. She ignores the cry her heart lets out as the familiar figure of an old, weathered knight still is missing from the picture. “Are you sure you don't wish to stay with Ryoma and your brother? You know I wouldn't mind if you did.”

Kaze smiles that bittersweet smile of his - oh, Corrin _definitely_ can see why he is so popular among the ladies, both on and off camp - and swoops in a low, Hoshidan-style bow.

“You have my deepest gratitude for your generous offer, Lady Corrin, but alas I must decline. As both a ninja, proud member of the Saizo line, and your retainer, it is my greatest honor and pleasure to keep serving under your name. My life is, and always will be, at your service.”

Corrin shakes her head and rolls her eyes as the ghost of a laugh curls the corners of her lips. This is only the fifth time she has tried to make him change his mind, but always to no avail. He is nearly as stubborn as Silas, and even _she_ is not dumb enough to argue with the knight who seems to be made of pure determination.

Only Xander might be able to beat him on that front, thinking about it. Whether that's something worth to be praised over or not, that is up to debate.

Her musings are cut short when steps approach from behind her; upon whirling around, she's faced with the whole Hoshidan royal family and their retainers. Sakura is wearing her usual shy smile, her festal gripped tightly in her hands, but the stern and somewhat frustrated faces of Hinoka and Takumi positively make her skin crawl, so she chooses to focus on Ryoma. He doesn't smile, but something warm and sad veils his features, something akin to longing and regret. Not exactly the epitome of joy by any means, but Corrin will gladly take wistfulness over judgment any day.

“I suppose there's no convincing you to stay, sister, is there?”

Corrin smiles and shakes her head. Now she feels a bit hypocritical for griping on Kaze's stubbornness. She really is in no position to talk at all. Between her own natural temperament and Xander's teachings, she just might be the most mulish of them all.

After all, isn't that the exact reason Hoshido and Nohr found themselves fighting side by side, though? Maybe being so damn obstinate is not that bad, all things considered.

“No, I've made up my mind, but thank you all the same. I'll never forget the kindness and support you all have shown towards me since we embarked on this journey together. And yes,” she adds when Takumi’s eyebrow shoots up, “I mean even you, Takumi. You trusted my word when you had no valid reason to and provided invaluable support with your incredible strategic skills. We would have never made it without your help.”

Takumi blushes a deep tomato red that can easily rival Hinoka's flaming hair and coughs in embarrassment. Corrin nearly laughs at how easy it really is to get him all flustered despite his tough exterior. Yet another trait he shares with Leo.

Hinoka snickers quietly at Takumi's expenses and earns herself a truly withering glare that would have incinerated any lesser man or woman. Ryoma, on the other hand, only allows his mouth to curl into a flickering wry smile before he reaches out and places both hands on Corrin's shoulders. They're huge, but delicate, and Corrin feels both incredibly small and incredibly safe in his hold.

Before she can restrain herself, her heart stutters as her thoughts meander to another man who used to hold her in a very similar manner in a past long gone, the very same man who is coordinating his troops across the bridge right now.

“I just want you to know, Corrin,” he begins slowly, as though he is carefully picking and weighing his words. Still, the look in his eyes is firm and unwavering as he meets her confused gaze square on. “That no matter what happens from here onwards, you will always find a home in Hoshido. Should you ever need it, Hoshido will always provide sanctuary for you and your retainers, regardless of their nationality. Under _any_ circumstance.”

Behind him, his siblings nod approvingly, slow and solemn. Hinoka's and Takumi's previous irritation seems to have melted away, leaving only a veil of sadness - she would even call it _pity_ , if only she knew the reason why she is to be pitied - in its place. Their intensity leaves her a little dumbfounded, but she nods firmly when it's clear Ryoma is not going to let go until she gives him a sign that she understands.

“Corrin,” Silas calls out to her, “we _really_ need to go. It looks like Lord Xander is quite in a hurry.”

Behind Ryoma, Hinoka pulls a face. “Rude and with no manners at all. And here I was starting to think Nohrians weren't all that bad. Fool that I was.”

Ryoma's hands slide down Corrin's arms and let go as he takes half a step back. He regards her with unabashed melancholy, a silent apology etched in the premature wrinkles creasing his brow as she finally turns away and hurries to the bridge, where the last remnant of the Nohrian troops are waiting to cross. With no hesitation, her retainers are hot in her trail, following no more than half a step behind their liege.

Her mind races as she nearly breaks into a run to reach the bridge; what does Ryoma mean by that offer? Sure, she's glad to know he's willing to consider her family despite her choice to return to Nohr, that goes without saying… but then what he said about _any circumstance_...

She's still quite absorbed in her turmoiling thoughts when she approaches the bridge, where Xander and his siblings are still gathered, apparently busy discussing animatedly about something she can't quite catch. If she hadn't, she probably would have been quicker to notice Peri and Laslow had been standing a good fifteen feet away from their liege and were now approaching her, and would have not needed Kaze to surge forward to hold her back as the two retainers drew their weapons and swiftly crossed them together to bar her way through. Caught off guard, Corrin stumbles back, Kaze's arm wrapped protectively around her midriff as he pushes her behind him, placing himself between her and the danger looming ahead.

“What in the world-”

On top of her mount, Peri giggles maniacally as she twirls her spear around, unfazed by Corrin's shock.

“Soorryy~” she drawls out, not looking sorry in the least. “No getting past this point for you.”

“What?!”

“I deeply apologize, Lady Corrin,” At least Laslow has the decency to appear genuinely regretful. “Lord Xander's orders. We have received permission to use violence should you oppose resistance. Please don't make this harder than it needs to be.”

Peri hums in agreement. “Too bad we've been expressly forbidden to kill you or any of your retainers. It would have been soo fuuuun~”

She flashes a downright wolfish grin at Silas, a manic gleam to her one visible crimson eye. In response to the not so veiled threat, Silas raises his spear in a defensive stance.

“What the hell is wrong with you, I swear…” he hisses under his breath, but Corrin pays him no mind.

If Corrin thought her mind was racing before, she now realizes it was nothing but a casual jog compared to the furious storm they've shaped up into right now, flashing to the forefront of her mind, tumbling and crashing over each other like waves before she even has the time to fully comprehend them.

Xander's coldness, Ryoma's offer, all the meaningful and wary glances they exchanged throughout their journey back through Valla, _under any circumstance_ -

Panic rising and heart hammering painfully against her chest, she escapes Kaze's safe grasp and lunges forward, but Laslow is so much quicker on his feet than she is; in less than an instant his hand has latched on her forearm and, with a swift twirl that dazzles her, she's thrown backwards, away. This time Kaze is not fast enough to prevent her from landing in a heap on the ground. Her silver armor, neither Nohrian nor Hoshidan, clangs ominously against the rocky floor.

She's suddenly very aware that the Hoshidans are still there, watching the scene unfold. Humiliation burns the corners of her eyes.

“Lady Corrin! Are you alright?” Felicia breathes out in shock as she kneels and helps Corrin sit up. Her hands are trembling and icy, but the cold does not register with Corrin's mind. Not when she feels like freezing on the inside, body and mind quickly going numb.

“What do you heathens think you're doing?!? Is this the way to treat your princess?”

“She is no such thing.”

Jakob's tirade dies instantly on his lips as two figures calmly approach, the heavy armored plates that flank their midnight-black steeds clicking and chiming with every step. Corrin’s heart stops and Felicia's arms around her shoulder grow tighter, protective. Even Kaze takes a step back and comes to stand between the newcomers and where Corrin and Felicia are sitting, a shuriken materializing out of nowhere in his hand. Peri and Laslow both bow in sign of respect and step aside.

“What…” Jakob only falters for a split second and then clears his throat, his composure regained. It would be admirable if it wasn't so reckless. Corrin would order him to step down, if only she wasn't feeling so pinned under Xander's unrelenting gaze, full of contempt and cold fury. “If I may ask, whatever do you mean, Lord Xander?”

Xander does not pay the overly zealous butler any attention. His face is a mask of stone, cold authority radiating from him in powerful waves as he stares down at Corrin from atop his mount, so tall she has to crane her neck and squint her eyes to make out his silhouette against the stormy sky above. A shiver runs down her spine as she realizes he is _King_ Xander of Nohr, and the resemblance with Garon, for the first time in her life, is striking. She has never felt so small and powerless in his presence.

“Xander…?”

His brow twitches and furrows even deeper, a muscle in his jaw tightens as his eyes narrow, cold and unflinching.

“I mean that Lady Corrin of Valla and her retainers are no longer to be considered citizens of Nohr, as of now.”

A collective gasp explodes around Corrin. She herself feels her lips part on their own accord, though no sound pours out of her gaping mouth. Felicia's protective grip goes slack and her hands fly to cover her own mouth, tears quickly welling up in her beautiful ice blue eyes.

Corrin is quite certain that, had Xander run her through with Siegfried and twisted the blazing blade in the wound, it wouldn't have hurt just as much.

“What?!? Lord Xander, please, _please_ reconsider-”

But Silas's pleas fall upon deaf ears, and are quickly silenced with the smallest flick of Xander's wrist.

“Nohr has no need for man or woman who isn't able to put its welfare above anything else, or whose allegiances are so easily swayed.”

“Nohrian law is blunt on the subject of traitors,” Leo finally speaks up, just as cold and contemptuous as his older brother, which makes no sense at all, they had been fine literally _hours_ ago…”The sentence is death.”

Corrin's vision swims, dark spots flicker in her field of view as Leo and Xander stare down at her as though the don't know her at all, like she's just another bug to crush on Nohr's way to greatness.

It was not long ago that they had offered her the same cold treatment, but back then they had a reason to believe she had betrayed them, and she had a purpose to keep fighting for.

Now, with the looming threat gone, she has no hold to keep herself grounded as the world crumbles away around her, and she's falling, plummeting down…

Suddenly, a white and red blur tears through her dazed state.

“Nohrian scum!!” Hinoka bellows in outrage, naginata at the ready. “Ungrateful and vile! How can you still have the gall to say such a thing after all she's done for all of us? How dare you call yourself Corrin's family when you so readily turn your back on her once she is no longer useful to you?”

A wyvern screeches nearby, and a sudden wind is all the warning Hinoka gets to leap out of the way of Camilla's mount as it lands with crushing might on the rocky platform. Sitting astride the creature's scaly back, Camilla peers down at the Hoshidan princess, disdain written plain on her face as her gloved fingers drum playfully on the handle the axe strapped to her back.

“I would be careful with your words, darling,” her tone is oh so sweetly poisonous. “It does not become a lady of your status to talk so freely of matters she can't even fathom to comprehend.”

Predictably, Hinoka instantly reels back. Corrin distinctly picks up Leo's dismayed groan and Xander quietly hissing his sister's name in warning.

“Do you dare mock me, princess of Nohr?”

Hinoka’s naginata raises threateningly, and that's Corrin's cue to finally snap out of it and _act_. She forces herself to her feet, her knees so weak and shaky that both Kaze and Felicia reach out to steady her, but she pushes their aiding hands away. She instead approaches Hinoka and grabs her arm, pulling and tugging delicately in an attempt to make her lower her weapon. Hinoka doesn't budge in the least; she merely throws her a quick glance, half surprised and half annoyed, and then goes back to glare daggers at Camilla.

“Please, Hinoka, it is quite alright, I'm ready to accept any punishment-”

“No you're not! You're my _sister_ and if you think I'm going to stand idly while they execute you, you’re sorely mistaken!”

Despite the less than ideal situation, Corrin's heart soars at Hinoka's fiery proclamation of love, and a spark of affection for her hot-tempered Hoshidan sister surges and engulfs her, chases away the cold despair that has been seizing her since they had left Anankos's palace.

A few steps away - and here Corrin nearly jumps out of her skin in surprise, she didn't realize they had closed the distance, stances and weapons ready to jump in her defense. Xander and the other Nohrians surely must have - several Hoshidans roar their approval, Takumi and his retainers probably the loudest out of them all. Ryoma, on the other hand, keeps quiet, arms crossed and head held high in silent defiance as he leers at Nohr's soon-to-be king.

Xander does not acknowledge any of them, though. His narrowed, reproachful eyes bear holes in Corrin's better than any sword or spear can do, and they focus on her and her alone, as though striving to sear her image in his retinas. Beside him, Leo and Camilla stay silent, eyes closed and head slightly bent, still and unmoving like statues.

“However, in light of the present and rather peculiar circumstances, we have deliberated a commutation to your sentence is in order.”

Hinoka's stance grows a little more relaxed, the sharp tip of her naginata lowering ever so slightly, but Corrin feels panic rise once again, dread growing tenfold at the prospect of what Xander is about to say, and her grip on Hinoka's forearm tightens, her fingers digging into the toned flesh with enough force to bruise. If Hinoka is in any pain, she's kind enough not to let it show.

With a slowness that does not fit him in the least, Xander reaches for Siegfried and draws it out of its scabbard. Slowly, painful inch by painful inch, the black blade emerges; the purple stone, imbued with the Rainbow Sage's might, opens its eye, glinting maliciously in the poorly lit morning sky. Corrin's instinct screams at her to unsheath her own weapon, to run, to fight the fate that's about to be thrust upon her shoulders, but she's transfixed, utterly unable to move or to even speak as the blade rises like a rearing serpent, poised to strike her where it knows it will kill, deeper and more effective than any mere physical wound could ever hope to be.

“As king of Nohr, I hereby decree thee, Corrin of Valla, and your retainers guilty of high treason against the Crown, and as such sentence you to exile from the entirety of Nohr's territory for the foreseeable future. From this moment onwards, you are banned from stepping foot into Nohrian land, lest you hold so little value to your life to throw it away on the gallow.”

Corrin's heart stops, her defences shattering under the weight of the blow. The invisible sword sinks into her flesh, drinks and thrives on her freezing blood as all life seemingly abandons her body.

Siegfried slowly descends in a graceful arch until she can feel the scorching heat of its power graze gently at the tip of her nose and lips.

It feels like a kiss and tastes like death.

“This is my parting gift for you, Corrin.” Ruthless in fencing with his words as he is with his sword, Xander does not allow her a moment of respite, does not let her breath and collect herself enough to think. A merciless onslaught of blows, and she is completely unable to defend herself from the assault. “By allowing you and your servants to live despite the heavy charges against you, the scale is now even. Nohr owes you nothing, and you owe nothing to Nohr.”

A stunned silence ensues. Nobody dares so much as twitch as the enormity of what has just taken place slowly sinks in. Corrin can't move, can't speak, can't _breathe_ as something heavy descends upon her and crushes her into the ground, presses on her lungs. She can only watch as Xander swiftly turns his horse around, turns his back on her.

Again.

“Farewell, Corrin. May the gods allow you to lead the long, peaceful life you've always dreamed of.”

And then, with a twirl of deep purple cape and a sharp snap on the reins, he is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an abrupt end, but it was really dragging far too long. I hope it's not too jarring. Also, in case anyone is wondering, in this fic the game's events happen within the span of an year, and by the end of Revelation Xander is 27, Camilla is 24, Corrin is 21, Leo is 19, Elise is 15, Ryoma is 26, Hinoka is 23, Takumi is 19 like Leo, Sakura is 16 and Azura is 24. I switched up the ages a bit because the Hoshidans do look a little younger than their Nohrian counterparts (also makes sense for them to be closer in age to each other, sharing the same mother) and because having them all at the exact same ages would be just too unrealistic.
> 
> Sorry for the essay of a note, I wanted to clarify because time is going to be important later on. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahh I am late! The second half of this chapter took far longer than I thought. In addition, I ended up getting Awakening so that definitely got my attention sidetracked lol

Takumi is seething.

It's not an unfamiliar feeling, not in the least. As Hinoka teasingly points out from time to time for Ryoma's and Sakura's amusement - as though _she_ has any right to talk; he can count on one hand the instances Hinoka didn't let her fiery temperament get the best of her - Takumi has spent the better part of a decade scowling and insulting anything that moved or simply looked at him the wrong way, and the other learning how to put an arrow in their forehead.

False and slanderous claims, obviously; he _can_ be nice and polite as the highly educated prince he is, thank you very much Hinoka, he's just very picky on who deserves to be held in such high esteem for him to actively respect. There aren't many, aside his closest family and their retainers, he deems worthy enough of that amount of praise.

To even think he'd ever grow as close as to tolerate the presence of a filthy Nohrian would have been, not so long ago, absolutely preposterous, ludicrous even. To outright admit he found a worthy peer into one of them, whose company he not only tolerates but genuinely _enjoys_ would simply be out of this realm.

And yet, as he has long learned since, fate is cruel and takes pleasure in throwing Takumi's solid beliefs out of the window and drag him through charcoals just to have a laugh at him as he struggles and flails uselessly in its grasp, fights valiantly a battle he will never win.

The last trick fate has come up with to torment Takumi has a name and a face, and comes with a truly outlandish outfit and a mount darker than the night itself. And, lo and behold, a Nohrian. What a surprise.

Prince Leo.

The name of his arch nemesis, Takumi's rival and evil counterpart. A boy of no more than nineteen springs, like Takumi, with winter in his heart and autumn in his hand, mind faster than lighting and tongue sharper than a sword.

There's no summer in his faded burgundy eyes. Summer never kisses Nohr's lands, never wastes its light on pale and gaunt faces carved in stone and ebony rocks shaped like spears.

It comes easy for Takumi to hate, and even easier to hate _him_ , so that's what he does. He hates and loathes the Nohrian princeling who carries Garon's thrice accursed blood. He despises the blackened, dead roots the other prince summons from the lifeless soil to rain death upon Hoshidan soldiers.

Hating is easy.

Until it's not.

Hating, Takumi is dismayingly quick to find out, does not come as easily as before when he catches Leo's silver tongue fumble ever so slightly in the presence of Crown Prince Xander and Ryoma, strained with the burning desire of acknowledgment and validation. Hatred falters and something akin to laughter swells in his chest when Takumi finds Leo wearing his collar inside out for the third time, and requests a begrudging Oboro to fix it for him. Hatred flees as it finds no space to invade Takumi's thoughts in the peace of a tent and a board in-between, with troops of ebony and ivory and wood for them to command, and a world to explore.

It's in these instances that he sees it, the inkling of summer in Leo's too old, auburn eyes and the crease at the corner of his mouth as it curls timidly upwards, a far cry from the sardonic smirk he dons to shield himself in lieu of an armor. Takumi never acknowledges the new, unknown warmth that floods his cheeks everytime he bears witness to the sun peeking through the black curtains Leo has wrapped his heart in, but it's there, and it's uncomfortable and annoying and yet sweet. He doesn't know what it is, and neither he desires to know.

That's a lie, for with every carefully planned move of a pawn across the board he learns something new about prince Leo he has never known he yearned to.

He learns Leo likes tomatoes, but they're quite hard to grow in Nohr, with its poor soil and lack of sunlight. Takumi refrains to mention they're nearly treated as a weed in Hoshido, as they grow so prosperously the risk of the gripe red fruit taking over other cultivation grows stronger every passing year.

He learns Leo first learned illusion magic to sneak Corrin out of the fortress Garon kept her imprisoned within, that he hates using it in battle unless he's really forced to, that he would glamour Corrin as Elise and Elise as Corrin to let Camilla hoist up Corrin up her wyvern and fly her to the nearest town for a few hours, while Elise stayed in the fortress with prince Xander, 'training’ on the roof.

The smile on Leo's face is genuine and sweet as he recalls the playful sparring sessions between his eldest and youngest siblings and describes how Elise would resort to every trick on the book to get the upper hand against her brother. He smiles as he tells Takumi, who has been wishing them all dead before he even knew their faces or names, how Xander would openly laugh at his sister's antics and gladly throw the match every single time for her sake, the spar always ending with Elise propelling herself against Xander's chest and demanding to be lifted up and twirled around. According to Leo, the ever stern and inflexible Crown Prince never failed to oblige.

Takumi learns that Ryoma and Hinoka's fears of mistreatment were misplaced, that Corrin had truly found a family within the Nohrian court - a bunch of misfit, but oddly functional all things considered. Of course, until Garon came into the picture. At that point all hell was bound to break loose for everyone.

Leo doesn't smile when the previously pleasant chat shifts to the king of Nohr, and proceeds to conquer Takumi's king - the white one, fitting - with a little more aggressiveness than what's strictly needed.

Just like now.

Leo doesn't smile at the sister he loves more than he is willing to admit as he and his siblings banish her from Nohr with a truly unwarranted forcefulness, and Takumi seethes, finds himself wondering if all the nights spent arguing amicably over battle tactics and board games had been a glamour too, if the young man under the black armor had been an illusion, another underhanded trick fitting the Nohrian scum Leo is supposed to be.

His fingers curl into fists, and the piece in his pocket feels heavy.

_”Why are you giving it to me?” Takumi asks in confusion, twisting the proffered black queen in his hand. Still a novice in chess he is, he can definitely appreciate the fine, intricate carving and polished wood, the pure gold ornaments glimmering in the candle light. It's an incredibly expensive piece, part of an equally expensive set, probably custom made for the prince._

_Leo shrugs nonchalantly, but if he hopes Takumi misses the way his jaw tightens, accentuating his increasingly drawn and tired face, he sure as hell has another thing coming._

_“I don't need her anymore.” Leo blatantly lies as he places back the rest of the pieces in their velvety alcoves with a love and care no Nohrian should have, and there's a glaring void surrounding the black king. “Figured I might as well give her to you. I know you'll take good care of her. For all your screaming bloody murder, you're quite gentle while handling frail items.”_

_He closes the laquered box with a snap, sharp and final, and the sound echoes in the silence like the fall of a guillotine. Leo smirks in that nerve grating way of his, but his eyes are sad when they fall to the ebony figurine in Takumi's palm, longing bubbling in the creases marring his too young features._

_“That doesn't make any sense.”_

_Leo shrugs again. “It doesn't have to. Just, hold onto it for the time being. Consider it a peace offering.”_

_Suspicion, foggy and shapeless, stains Takumi's sight. “A memento? Something to remember you by?”_

_Leo does not reply, but his eyes speak loud enough for both to understand._

Now, into the morning drizzle on the border between Nohr and Hoshido, suspicion becomes certainty and strangles Takumi's outraged protest in his throat. He searches, desperately, Leo's face, and there it is, the one crack in the mask, the one wrinkle that betrays the agony Corrin is so freely expressing and venting out and that Leo and Xander and Camilla are instead swallowing, consuming them to ashes from within.

Their gazes meet, and Leo smirks in that nerve grating of his but there's fire in his eyes and pain on his lips.

Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

Understanding dawns on him and he instantly rounds on Ryoma, who stands there, still as a statue as he regards the Crown Prince as he turns his back on Corrin and gallops away, followed by his siblings. Ryoma, who knew this was happening, and Hinoka, who was a little too ready to raise her naginata in Corrin's defence when in reality Corrin was only faced with proffered shields.

Ryoma turns ever so slightly, meets Takumi's silent question and steadfast replies.

Corrin crumples, a puppet whose strings have been neatly cut in a single blow. Her hand stretches out, her voice tears and bleeds on the name of the damned foreign Nohrian names. Xander, Leo, Camilla, Elise, Xander, Camilla, _Xander_...

A shameful spectacle. Several of their Hoshidan fellow soldiers, in respect of their new princess, avert their eyes from the scene. Sakura and Azura rush forward as Hinoka falls to her knees and wraps Corrin's sobbing form in her arms and cape, rubs her arms comfortingly. Azura hums soothingly and Sakura mumbles what Takumi recognizes as a charm to calm nerves, but although the sobs and curses subside the sheer pain in Corrin's tearful eyes is still as vivid, heavy and thrumming like a blight.

Takumi's stomach lurches violently as he watches the dark cape - it's inside out, you fool - flutter past the bridge and vanish behind a bend in the path leading to Nohr, and he wonders if it's contagious.

* * *

Elise is seething.

It's not an usual feeling, and she's very proud for that. The gods know she's seen enough rage contort her father's face and leave bruises on Xander, Camilla and Leo wherever it reached them, and it's only because Xander, Camilla and Leo always place themselves as shields between Father and her that no bruise ever bloomed on Elise's skin since the time she was introduced to court.

It's for them that she finds the strength to smile even in the direst situations, it's for them she pushes down the anger and squints hard to find a flicker of light, even in this dark and war-torn country she sometimes finds herself hating. Camilla always says, while combing and braiding Elise's hair with gentle and loving hands, that her cheerful optimism gives them strength and for this she should never give up on it, but in truth Elise knows the only reason she's allowed to be the happy-go-lucky little girl of the group is because her older siblings are always protecting her, always allowing the world's cruelty to taint them so that she can be spared.

There are times Elise resents being the childish one, resents not being able to protect her family the way they always protected her. Still, she smiles brightly nonetheless, even when tears burn at the corner of her eyes and her throat constricts with pain, since she knows it's the only way she has to repay her brothers and sisters for their efforts.

She loves her family, she truly does. Adores them, every single one, with every ounce of her being. She would do anything to ensure their safety, their happiness, to make sure they're finally at peace, after the many and too long miserable years if gloom and fear they had to bear, constantly trapped under the thumb of a manic man with too much power and a bloodstained axe.

She's ready to die to protect her family. She's also ready to kill, should push come to shove.

Therefore, as someone so dedicated to protect what she holds dear, she can understand what Xander is doing. To a certain extent, she could also say she respects the course of action he's decided to take.

That doesn't mean she _likes_ it, though. In fact, she very much hates it.

_“It is for the best”_ he said, but what is the point of it if she can make out Camilla's muffled sobs despite the wind and the flapping of Marzia's wide, leathery wings; what is the point when Leo's shoulders are slouched and hunched in guilt, pain and regret etched deep in the premature wrinkles lining his youthful face, and even Odin and Niles are uncharacteristically quiet and downtrodden as they march at their liege's side, because what even is there to say in the face of such sorrow.

What is the point of it all, Elise wonders, her heart squeezing in pain as she recalls Corrin's desperate pleas to stop, Corrin's tears as she screams their names like her life is depending on it, eyes wide with pain and betrayal when Xander doesn't as much as look at her as she crumples in shock and he gallops away.

Just what _is_ the purpose of it, if Xander himself keeps glancing to the empty space at his right and his eyes hollow and his heart bleeds at the lack of a familiar silver glint, a beacon of light in a sea of dull blacks and purples.

Not for the first time - and she's sure it's not going to be her last - Elise finds herself wondering if they're cursed, all of them, damned to never know more than a fleeting taste of peace and warmth, just to make it all the more painful and bitter when it got ripped from their hands.

It's so _unfair_.

And Elise is done putting up with it.

It's with that resolution that she gently, but firmly, tugs on the reins of her mount to spur her on. Rose, as the perfectly obedient and groomed steed she is, wastes no time to oblige and shoots forward, stumbling lightly on the uneven mountain path and kicking out pebbles and gravel on her way. Behind her, Arthur and Effie call her name in warning, but Elise ignores them and leads her agile horse through the bulk of their troops - lost in thought as she was, she didn't realize she had fallen so behind, so far from her siblings - weaving nimbly through the ranks until she's filling Corrin's vacant spot at Xander's side. She pulls again on the reins as to match his pace, brisk and firm.

Xander's eyes narrow in suspicion, but he doesn't outwardly protest on her breach of protocol, as though he was expecting her to pull a stunt such as this and was resigned to it. Somehow, his silence manages to stoke the fire raging in her belly to even higher levels.

“Did you really need to be that mean?”

On Xander's left, Leo coughs pointedly. She pretends she doesn't hear and simply keeps glaring daggers at the side of Xander's face, silently demanding for him to acknowledge her and grace her with a reply. He doesn't, of course; he just keeps staring ahead, the dim lights painting deep shadows on his stony and sharp features, though no shade can possibly be as hollow and dark as the one veiling his eyes.

“Well?”

“Elise!” Leo abandons all subtlety at that point. He pinches the bridge of his nose and scrunches his eyes closed. No doubt he's dealing with a raging migraine right now, one of the many that have been plaguing his waking and sleeping hours alike for who knows how long. Elise can't remember the last time she's seen any if her siblings get a full night of restful sleep anymore. “We've agreed-”

“But there was no need to be so drastic!” Elise cuts him off, unable to completely keep her frustration from bleeding into her voice. She can still hear Corrin's sobs in the back of her mind, haunting her, spurring her to keep fighting. “After all she's done for us, after all she's been through _because_ of us, she doesn't deserve to be treated the way you did!”

Leo opens his mouth to retort back, his own anger and exhaustion, both physical and mental, finally catching up to him, but before he can even get more than an angry hiss out Xander finally speaks, and his voice echoes and ripples like it's coming from far, far away, a place older than time, darker than death.

“You know perfectly well the reason behind my actions. We've already discussed this.”

His tone is final, and although Elise knows he has to be one of the most stubborn people who ever walked on this Earth, she also knows she can be just as boneheaded if she needs to. It must run in the family.

“So are you just fine with it? You're going to just shrug it off if Corrin never wishes to see any of us again? You just won't care if she ends up loathing you?”

Xander's jaw tightens and his mouth contorts in raw anger - or agony in its foulest form - and Elise knows she's touched a nerve, one that has been stinging for a while. But when he speaks, his tone is flat, cold. Deadly, and yet dead.

“Yes, precisely.”

The lie rolls off his tongue dismayingly nonchalant, as though he's just too used to having his heart and body so dichotomically disconnected, and pierces through Elise's resolve with far more ease than she's willing to admit. Pain and outrage wash over her and pull her under, and for a second she's tempted to strike him, squarely in the face, just to see if he'd strike her back, if he's still the loving brother she's always known or if Father has finally overtaken him, turned him into the mindless and cruel pawn he tried to make out of all his children.

Tears, fat and scalding, well at the corners of her eyes. It's a mistake, a fatal one, because Xander knows the battlefield like the back of his hand and better than his heart, and he knows all too well when he's dealt a blow that counts. He especially knows how to take advantage of it, and indeed he commands to pick up the pace as he darts forward, Laslow and Peri hot on his trails, and leaves her in the dust.

Leo shoots her an apologetic glance, or whatever comes anywhere near to an apology for Leo's standards, and follows suit their brother. Soon enough the rest of the group has engulfed her again, wrapping her into its protective shell, and her retainers flank her, their presence comforting but also stifling. Her head ducks down and her cheeks flush red in shame, because she has failed Corrin again, couldn't help her _sister_ 's case again. She wonders if Corrin felt so dejected when both Xander and High Prince Ryoma turned their back on her, on that day at the border. Her respect for her sister has just grown tenfold.

A gust of damp wind flurries past her, causing her pigtails to whip around and struggle against the ribbons keeping them together. She notices she's at the very back of the formation, a position she hates and that she's always forced to take whenever there are injured to treat.

“Elise.”

Elise lifts her head just enough to peer up at Camilla as the latter glides down in a blur of leather and purple. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks red, but nevertheless she offers Elise a small, motherly smile Elise is only too happy to cling to.

“Hello, sister.” She sniffs as she fetches a handkerchief from her satchel and angrily wipes at her own wet cheeks. “What a _fantastic_ day, isn't it? Really the best day for a family trip, all together.”

Camilla's smile wavers and her eyebrows pinch in guilt. “Elise, sweetheart, please understand our current situation.”

“I do!” She hisses angrily, shaking her head furiously. “I know what lies ahead, and I hate it, but I hate having to backstab Corrin this way even more! Why, Camilla? Why can't we be a proper family for once?”

Her voice comes out in a strangled hiss despite her best efforts. Camilla regards her for a moment, an enormous sadness souring her apparently sweet smile, and then heaves a sigh lighter than a breeze and heavier than the world.

“I know, darling. I too long for nothing more but to be able to turn tail and hold Corrin tight to my chest, threading my fingers in her beautiful silvery tresses…” Camilla's smile turns dreamy and her eyes unfocus for a fleeting moment. Elise never knows what to think of instances like these when Camilla falls prey to emotions that teeter on the border of obsession, as they both intrigue and scare her. Luckily, these bouts have grown steadily rarer with the most recent events, and in fact Camilla is quick to regather her composure. “But you are aware of the situation we're facing. Would you rather know Corrin safe and sound, surrounded by people who can openly love her and she loves back, or force her to take part in a wretched conflict she has no ties with?”

Camilla's tone never once loses its calm and soothing quality, if not a tad forlorn and melancholic, though Elise still feels a twinge of guilt in her stomach at the veiled reprimand. 

“I...I know, but… I'm sure if we just _talked_ to her-”

“She would have insisted to join us,” Camilla cuts in with the same confidence she shows when she strikes an enemy down with her axe. “No, I know it might seem cruel to you, but Xander is right. It's better this way, for everyone involved.”

Rich of her to say when the lines her tears left on her face are still visibly glistening, but Elise doesn't have the time to object, because all of a sudden Marzia lets out a truly frightening cry and Camilla jumps up, now fully alert.

“Stay here.” She orders as the wyvern rises in the air again in a couple of powerful flaps of her wings. “Don't get involved unless it's strictly necessary and keep close to your retainers. I'll warn Xander and Leo.”

“Wait, what-”

But Camilla isn't listening anymore; all her attention is focused on getting to Xander at the head of the party, adrenaline spiking up as thoughts twirl furiously, _It's too soon_ , _how did they know_...

“Xander!” She yells as she finally reaches her brothers. “They're here!”

Leo hisses a curse he most definitely picked up from Niles and proceeds to readjust the troops as Xander unsheathes Siegfried once again, purple flames engulfing the entire length of the legendary blade.

“Show yourself!”

He doesn't have to wait long: in a matter of seconds wyverns pour out of every crevice in the rocks like vultures on a decaying prey as their riders let out belligerent bellows and brandish axes nearly as heavy as themselves. Camilla squints, tries to catch sight of a familiar face, a former comrade, within the enemy ranks, and is relieved when she recognizes no one among her opponents. Good, she can kill each and every single one of them without a shred of guilt.

The one puny, grey Malig Knight who seems to be leading the wyvern fleet smirks.

“Well, well, what do we have here. The long lost princes and princesses. I wonder how much will their head be worth?”

“Who sends you?” Xander demands, completely unfazed. Of course he is, Camilla reasons with an amused scoffs. After a whole life spent on the battlefield and after slaying a _dragon_ itself, what could a couple of wyverns even hope to amount to?

The Malig Knight doesn't seem to appreciate the Crown Prince's steely nerves. His smirk drops and his beady, dark eyes flash angrily behind his corrective lenses.

“Oh? Are the rumors true, perhaps? Do the children of Garon really not know of the new, fair kingdom of Nohr?”

A weight settles at the pit of Camilla's stomach. She's suddenly dreading to hear what she fears she will.

“Quit your meaningless rhetoric,” Xander snaps, and Camilla knows he's just as tense as she is. “Who do you serve?”

There's a beat of silence. Then the Knight sneers.

“The great king of Nohr, King Iago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I know, it's bad, wildly ooc, and I couldn't telegraph the twist more obviously than this. I hope it at least makes a shred of sense. In any case, I hope ypu enjoyed, and let me know if something isn't clear!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter was tricky. I kept getting stumped at the beginning, then the second part really got out of me and grew into this humongous thing... Like, damn, I thought it would never end. The end is kinda awkward, I never know how to properly cut a chapter off lol
> 
> I hope it's not too bad!

Hinoka is no stranger to exhaustion by any means. Ever since her father died by the coward arrows of Nohr and her beloved little sister was kidnapped, sore muscles and burning bruises have been Hinoka's most intimate friends, inseparable partners that woke her up at dawn and kissed her goodnight at dusk. Never she complained about the pain in her limbs, nor about the spoiled nobles who soon took to call her a graceless tomboy unfit to be called princess, for getting her sister back and exacting Hoshido's revenge for King Sumeragi's brutal murder was worth every cutting remark and blister on her hands.

They call her Warrior Princess, and she's - rightfully - proud of it, nor will she pretend otherwise. Unlike the filthy Nohrians, who take pride in their ability to commit unjustified atrocities and act like they are not to blame for anything, she'd never stoop as low as to conceal her nature and thoughts. Royal blood and status be damned, Hinoka swore, the day she officially took up arms and first wielded a naginata, to be as clear as the pegasus feathery wings and concise as the blade she holds. A warrior first, and a princess second.

And perhaps it's this very same vow of blunt honesty the cause of her newly found tiredness that has nothing to do with the gruesome march along the tricky path riding down the mountain, made it even more cumbersome by the increasing rain that pelts the already slippery rock, and all with the void stare on Corrin's face and of the banned - now former - Nohrians that comprise her entourage.

As of now, as the they set camp for the night, Corrin has long stopped crying. In fact, she hasn't said a word since the Nohrian royals disappeared from her sight and life. She wanders through camp, working twice as much as a common soldier to make sure everything is in the right place, takes over the most humble of tasks barely fit for the lowest servant and, whenever thanked, barely responds with a crooked smile that looks like a grimace of unfathomable pain.

More than once Azura, Sakura and Corrin's own retainers tried to approach her, to get her to her tent for some well deserved rest. Each and every single attempt was shot down without a word.

Now, all Hinoka can do is stand outside Corrin's tent and listen to her soft cries and whimpers, her stomach churning in outrage and guilt as her little sister tosses and turns in her bedroll, unable to join the damned progeny of Garon even in her dreams.

Once again, Hinoka is left powerless, too weak - too inadequate - to rescue her little sister from a fate that could be worse than death.

Once again, despite the many vows she's taken since that fateful day king Sumeragi left to never come back ever again, despite her boastful attitude and unparalleled skill with the naginata, Hinoka still can do nothing but watch as her sister is stolen from her again.

Her fists clench at her sides. Her fingernails - chipped, short, like a warrior's - dig into the meat of her palm, punch crimson crescents against the calloused flesh.

Curse them. Curse them all.

Curse them for taking and corrupting everything they touched. Curse them for dragging even Ryoma and Hinoka herself into this poisonous game of lies and betrayal they are masters of, all in the name of 'what is best for Corrin’, of course.

Every Nohrian is the same, at the end of the line. Although the motivation might vary, deep down the modus operandi ingrained into them is unchanged: to hurt, to kill and to lie.

The apple never falls far from the tree, after all, and children born out of scum will always be scum. How could they ever turn out any differently, when it's the only way to live they know?

 _Wrong line of thought_ , Hinoka chastises herself. Of all things she wants to feel towards the Nohrians that have haunted her existence for so long, pity is definitely the last on the list.

A soft rustling noise startles her out of her reverie. She whirls around, hand flying to the knife she keeps strapped to her thigh, only to be faced with Felicia's gaunt face and downtrodden eyes, usually so bright and cheerful and now puffy and red rimmed.

“I-I'm sorry, Your Highness,” Felicia stutters weakly and bends into a back-breaking bow so low her rosè ponytail flips over her shoulder and brushes against the dirty rock beneath their feet. “I did not mean to startle or intrude. Please forgive me.”

The strain on the respectful title and the plea for forgiveness betray how truly miserable she is. Hinoka wonders absently whether the young maid is used to grovel in such a humiliating way, even when she did nothing wrong.

From what Hinoka knows of Garon and his cohorts, it is very likely the case. She has no trouble picturing him as he orders a maid or butler who just happened to be there be executed.

That was the man who didn't blink an eye when his own _children_ were slaughtered, to think he would care for a servant is just too unrealistic.

Hinoka lets go of the knife's silvery handle and drops her hand with a short, weary sigh.

“You can relax, Felicia, it's alright. If anything, I was the one at fault, suspiciously standing out of Corrin's tent like some sort of creep. As her trusted maid and retainer, you have every right to come confronting whoever might be threatening your liege, regardless of their social status.”

Slowly, as though she can't quite believe her ears, Felicia cranes her neck up - Hinoka nearly cringes in pain at the mere sight of that hellish posture - and peers up at Hinoka through her short fringe. The young maid blinks owlishly, as though utterly confused by the fact she is allowed some basic respect no human being should ever be denied.

May Garon rot in hell for the rest of eternity. Possessed or not, Hinoka doesn't give a damn.

Hinoka takes a moment to inwardly laugh at the irony of the situation - is she really comforting a Nohrian? Oh, how the mighty fall - and then forces the corners of her lips to stretch into a smile. She can only hope it doesn't look as fake as it feels.

She doesn't need to worry, apparently: Felicia beams in relief and straightens up, hands folded elegantly over her stomach. She curtsies quickly in sign of respect and gratitude.

“Thank you, Princess Hinoka, it's truly appreciated. Back in Nohr, the royal family's orders were absolute, and death was the punishment for those who were foolishly enough to cause discomfort of the king and his children.”

Figures. It takes Hinoka all self control she has to refrain from rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Sounds like a real hassle to me. Though Hoshidian law is indeed strict towards who disobeys the king or queen's commands directly, we still try to keep the capital punishment to the bare minimum. Keeping guard to your liege's tent is hardly motive to warrant a punishment at all to begin with. We treasure the citizens the gods have left in our care, and the servants will forever receive the respect their due for their services, here in Hoshido. That's the way our beloved Mother and Queen, Mikoto, has raised us and we will live by her teachings from this point on forward.”

Her voice grows stronger towards the end of her speech; perhaps too much, because they hear a rustling noise and a soft sigh waft out of Corrin's tent and for a moment both women fear they awoke the finally sleeping princess. However, only silence fills the following moments as they listen with bated breath for noises betraying Corrin's rising, and soon enough they can heave in a relieved sigh. Felicia nods slowly and curtsies again.

“I understand. Thank you, Princess Hinoka.”

“Was the royal family ever unkind to you without reason?” Hinoka finds herself blurting out before she can think twice about it, and she inwardly curses herself at length, because she really _doesn't_ want to know if Prince Xander and Princess Camilla were as much of a monster while around Corrin as they were in the battlefield. She feels like she already knows the answer, deep down, and she doesn't like it one bit.

So she silently prays Felicia will dispel her fears, that she will confirm that yes, they are absolutely brutish murderers and barbaric fiends, with no ability to feel a shred of love or sympathy in the slightest.

She prays desperately, but the Dawn Dragon does not listen to her cries, as always; Felicia claps her hands and tilts her head to the side as a small smile pushes up her plump lips. “You mean the Crown Prince and his siblings? Oh no, they always treated us maids and servants with kindness and respect, even helping us out from time to time, especially whenever they visited lady Corrin at the Northern Fortress. They are really nothing like their father, as long as he's not present to bear his judgment on them. Whenever King Garon was present, they had to keep a cruel facade up to keep him pleased.” Felicia's fond grin fades away, replaced instead by a sad grimace. “Much like what happened today at the Bottomless Canyon, I suppose. I don't think I have ever seen Lord Xander act so coldly towards someone without a more than fair reason, _especially_ someone he holds so dear like Lady Corrin… how strange…”

Felicia trails off, looking thoroughly dejected, and ducks her head down. Hinoka is all too aware of the sudden awkwardness of the situation and crosses her arms in a badly masked attempt to appear casual and confident, all the while shifting her weight from her left to her right foot and the other way around and glaring down to the ground as though the blackened rock had offended her on a personal level.

“I…” Felicia stammers out all of a sudden, “I wanted to thank you personally for what you did today.”

Hinoka's heart leaps up in her throat and panic thrums through her veins.

_Please, don't._

“I hardly did anything deserving of praise.”

Felicia shakes her head gently. “With your permission, Your Highness, I disagree. I know for a fact your actions today meant more than words will ever be able to express to Lady Corrin. In the moment she most needed it, you protected her and showed her what being family is.” Felicia sniffles and excuses herself to wipe at the corner of her eye; Hinoka finally remembers Felicia has a twin sister as well, and that she too will never be able to see her family again as long as the exile on Corrin's head holds. Hinoka wonders whether they at least had time to bid goodbye, or if Prince Xander simply cleaved the bond connecting them in two like he did with his alleged affection for Corrin.

“So, thank you, Princess Hinoka, from the bottom of my heart, for giving us all a home to belong to.” The young maid chokes out weakly. “I will be honored to be serving under your family from now on.”

Bile rises and a lump lodges itself at the base of her throat at the declaration of respect and loyalty that she doesn't deserve, and all of a sudden she can't stand to hold the teary and hopeful gaze of the humble maid. She looks away and takes a step back.

“Glad to hear it,” she grinds out through clenched teeth. “Now, since Corrin is asleep I would better… go, yes. We're setting back on march as soon as dawn breaks.”

“Of course,” Felicia doesn't seem to catch on her turmoil or on her blatantly rude dismissal. Hinoka doesn't even want to know the level of sheer disrespect this girl has grown so nonchalantly accustomed to. “I wish you good night and plenty of rest.”

“Thank you… huh, you too…”

She turns away and pretends like she's not fleeing from the hopeful smile and bowed back of the maid, from an awe she's always longed to see in her lost sister and that she doesn't deserve.

Her legs meander through the all too quiet camp, boots booming like thunder in the dreadfully silent night. The few soldiers up for patrol duty salute and bow to her and Hinoka wishes she could return the courtesy, but her jaws are glued together and the fire scorches her throat. She merely nods, stiff and stern, and presses on, allowing her body to carry her to the tent of the one she truly wishes to speak to.

To the untrained eye, Ryoma's tent, the biggest and most elegant on camp, might appear sorely unguarded; Hinoka knows better than to think so, her suspicions confirmed when she feels a familiar itch at the nape of her neck, where Saizo and Kagero are boring holes into her from their hiding spot. She slows down and raises her hands, splays her open palms and fingers open in sign of surrender. Then she takes her knife and places it carefully on the rock at the entrance of the tent, a sign of peace. It doesn't matter whether you're family or not, under no circumstance will a threat be allowed to pass and befall upon the new King of Hoshido.

Hinoka straightens up, deliberately slow, and strains her ear, waits with bated breath the hissing sound of a pointed shuriken flying at her head. Nothing happens.

Hinoka clears her throat, eyeing the strip of candlelight flickering through the flap of the tent. She's apparently not the only one who has trouble sleeping.

 _The taste of deceit and guilt is too suffocating._ A little, serpentine voice unhelpfully supplies inside her head. She thinks it might sound like Princess Camilla.

“Brother,” she calls, wincing at how loud her voice is in the deadly silence of the night. “May I speak with you?”

A beat of utter silence. Then the flap is pulled and Ryoma's drawn face floats in the newly made entryway. He blinks blearily, sleep heavy on his eyelids.

“Of course, Hinoka. Come in.” He says, genuinely warm and welcoming, the faintest trace of a smile dancing on his lips. A twinge of pain stabs Hinoka through the chest as she basks in her blessed luck that gave her such a caring brother who had to reinvent himself as father when he was barely in his teens. She nods stiffly again, does not smile back.

“Thank you.”

He keeps the flap open for her to come through and only drops it when she comes to a halt in the middle of the wide circular space between his desk, where a tiny mountain of neatly stacked papers peaks proudly in the light of the candle flame, and his bedroll. The ceremonial suit armor and Raijinto lie in restful wait a short distance from the bedroll in the corner. She can hardly remember a time he didn't carry them on his person at any time of the day and night.

She hovers, the words she wants to say lodging themselves at the base of her tongue. Her hands fold and wring together, her short nails digging and drawing scarlet stripes over the back of her fingers.

A much larger palm wraps around her own, stilling their feverish scraping and scratching. It's warm.

“Are you alright?”

A rhetorical question. Hinoka looks up at her brother, takes in the tired lines around his eyes and pinched eyebrows. His wild mane of hair falls limply from the string of fabric he's tied it into, a few strands jutting out awkwardly in random directions. She shrugs.

“I don't know.”

Ryoma's brow furrows further, sadness and suffering etched deep in every premature wrinkle.

“How is she?”

She flinches. “About as well as you'd expect.” She snaps, far harsher than she actively wishes to be. “She hasn't said a word the whole day, and last I heard from her she was crying in her sleep and calling for that damned _Crown Prince_ like her life depended on him.”

She spits the Nohrian title like a curse, like a poisonous insult. Ryoma's gentle eyes narrow ever so slightly and his grasp on her hands tightens, but he doesn't reprimand her.

She tugs herself free. He releases her with no qualms.

“Hinoka…”

She turns away from him, but she knows it's useless, he's going to see her tears in her hunched shoulders, into her faltering breaths.

“This is not right.” She breathes. “This is… not the way it was _supposed_ to be. Nohr was supposed to fall and burn to the ground, Garon and his accursed offspring with it. Corrin was supposed to stay and fight alongside us, to sing hoshidan songs of victory on Garon's cold corpse!!”

She nearly shouts. She's rather positive the whole camp can hear her, but she can't care less. Again, Ryoma doesn't stop her. He merely regards her with a solemn sadness that shouldn't belong to such a young man. He looks centuries old and so, so _tired_.

“I can't do this, Ryoma. The idea of lying to Corrin's face for the rest of her life, to treat her like a prized trophy to trade and keep stowed away… I can't bear it. My hoshidan pride prevents me from stooping so low.”

She hears Ryoma heave in a deep breath. It's almost like time has reversed, and they're suddenly kids again, a young Ryoma berating his foolish little sister as she injured herself for the umpteenth time trying to fly a still untrained pegasus to Nohr.

“Sometimes, even the wisest kings and queens of Hoshido had to lie to keep peace within the country. Secrecy comes with the throne. It's a weight on the soul and a terrible burden on the heart, especially when it is meant to keep dear friends and family in the dark. But in the end, the award is worth the price of such sorrow.”

Hinoka glares at the ground again, fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“Isn't Corrin worth enough for you?”

She is, obviously. Hinoka would literally walk through burning charcoals for her sake, for any of her family's members.

“I came across Felicia.” Hinoka whispers weakly. Unseen by her, grim understanding dawns on Ryoma. “She… she told me she's so grateful, that I showed what family means in the face of Nohr's sudden cruelty, that she's glad she's serving Hoshido now…”

Her breath runs shallow and she has to stop to regather her composure. Ryoma does not pressure her.

“I lied to her, and she was grateful for it! Looked at me like I saved her from the goodness of my heart and it wasn't, it wasn't me, it was that bloody Crown Prince and I… I just… _can't_.”

Ryoma feels a deep, dull pain stab him through the heart as his beloved sister's strong facade, the mask she's been wearing since she decided to dedicate her life to the spear, finally cracks, and reveals the frail, weary young woman within.

Slowly, making it a point to make enough noise so that she knows he's coming closer and can decide whether to accept him or not - in this sense, she's strikingly similar to the pegasi she's so fond of - he approaches. She stays still, which he takes as his silent cue to wrap a hand around her trim waist and gently pull her to his chest, delicately spinning her so that she can sink her face into his embroidered yukata like she always used to do when she was younger.

Indeed, she does not disappoint him and does just that. He feels the cold tears filter through the thin fabric.

“I hate him,” Hinoka's voice comes out muffled, but the seething loathing is still clear as the crystalline waters of Hoshido's finest hot springs. “He keeps stealing everything from me, only to willingly give it back mangled and corrupted. He should be rotting in hell with his worthy father.”

Her hand curls and fists over Ryoma's yukata. He holds her tighter to himself, resting his chin over the crown of her head.

“I know what you're feeling, dear sister.” He says into her short, crimson hair, all the while rubbing his right hand up and down her back, slow and steady, in an attempt to soothe her. “I will not deny I used to feel much like you are, at first. Perhaps, even more intensely.”

Hinoka scoffs in disbelief, and he chuckles. “I’ve slayed more Nohrians than I can count. Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don't think anyone can match my hatred for Nohrian scum. Maybe only Takumi,” she adds as an afterthought.

Ryoma hums noncommittally, choosing neither to refute or to acknowledge her playful jab. He still vividly remembers the withering look their little brother had thrown at Ryoma and Hinoka as the latter played her part in the farce so flawlessly.

He knows, Ryoma realizes. It wouldn't be much of a problem - in fact, it would be source of pride, for he has always known Takumi is so much more clever and perceptive than the youngest prince ever gave himself credit for - if only he hadn't caught on the fleeting longing in Takumi's eyes as his gaze lingered a second too long on the figure of Prince Leo.

Dangerous, to say the least. A fatal mistake that could bring both Hoshido and Nohr on the verge of a disaster.

“Still,” he decidedly presses on, ignoring the feeling of dread coiling around his throat. “I’ve seen their worth. We all did. And finding an agreement now, a common ground, will allow our people to thrive and bask in the peace we've always desired.”

A memory floats at the forefront of his mind, a memory of a man with death in his eyes and no hope left. He holds Hinoka just a little tighter.

“For the sake of our sister, of both our countries, we must hold strong and bear this burden.”

Hinoka shudders in his hold and her grip on his yukata grows firmer. She looks up, her hazel eyes peeking out from her fiery bangs like the newborn sun at dawn. She nods.

“For Corrin and Hoshido.”

* * *

_”May I have a word, High Prince Ryoma?”_

_It takes a special kind of man, Ryoma thinks, to march all the way up to the tent of a former enemy in the middle of the night, alone and - Ryoma's eyes shoot to where the cumbersome scabbard of the legendary sword uses to sit at the hip of Nohr's Crown Prince - apparently unarmed. A fool._

_Or a desperate man, who has nothing to lose and all to gain._

_His hands are raised in surrender, the obsidian black armor glinting maliciously into the soft glow of fires keeping the joined camp warm and alight. Kagero and Saizo are restraining his arms and pressing their shurikens against the deadly pale skin of his neck, a flick of the wrist away from tearing through._

_And yet, despite the blatant threat to his safety, Crown Prince Xander of Nohr barely reacts. He doesn't acknowledge Ryoma's retainers in the least nor does he oppose resistance. His sunken gaze is fixed firmly on Ryoma, and between the pallor of his complexion and the shadows rimming his eyes Ryoma is tempted to think Prince Xander had already passed away and brought back as an undead puppet of Anankos, much like his father._

_Only the smoldering embers in his fiery stare, so different from the glassy and unfocused ones of Anankos's invaders, are proof that the man is still very much alive._

_Ryoma fully emerges from his tent. Raijinto feels heavy at his waist. He nods._

_“Saizo, Kagero, let him go.”_

_“My Lord-!!”_

_It takes Ryoma a raised hand to silence his faithful retainers and bring them to an albeit reluctant obedience. The Nohrian is released and the shuriken pulled away, but Prince Xander keeps his arms up in surrender._

_“I merely wish to talk,” the man says gravely, “I most certainly do not desire to undermine the feeble alliance binding our countries.”_

_“Yet, although you openly admit the fragility and unsteadiness of the newborn peace, you demand to be allowed to speak with our soon-to-be king face to face.” Saizo snarls darkly, both his eyes, seeing and unseeing, drilling holes into the face of the man who, not much long ago, was considered the second most dangerous of their enemies, only beaten by Garon himself. “Very rich of you. I don't believe we're quite there in terms of how trustworthy you and your people can be deemed to grant you such a request.”_

_“You have every right to hold doubts and reserves towards your former enemy, and for such caution I don't blame you. Quite the contrary, I plaud your remarkable zeal. However, I came here unarmed and unaccompanied. It surely would not be the case if the thought of challenging you to a fight was to cross my mind.”_

_“It could be a trap…” Kagero says, though the faintest flicker of doubt crosses and slackens her features, and the hand holding the shuriken lowers slightly._

_“Enough.” Ryoma steps forward towards his Nohrian equivalent. Kagero starts and Saizo reels. Ryoma pays both no mind and addresses directly the opposing prince. “I accept your request. Saizo, Kagero, leave us.”_

_Both ninjas are clearly about to explode out of sheer indignance and outrage._

_“Wait, Prince Ryoma. As long as they stay out of earshot and don't listen, I will accept their presence, if it’s of any help to ease their rightful concerns for their king's safety.”_

_For an endless moment, the three Hoshidans stare disbelievingly at the Nohrian, wondering if he has truly lost his mind._

_Truly a desperate man, Ryoma sentences._

_“It's settled then. Kagero, Saizo, please retreat.”_

_Both ninja nod and in the blink of an eye - though Saizo still manages to throw a last contemptuous glare at the man in black armor - they vanish into thin air, leaving the two heirs to their respective kingdom alone._

_“Well, Crown Prince Xander, what do I owe the pleasure?” Ryoma presses. There's no space for pleasantries and formal protocol in their current situation._

_Luckily, Prince Xander seems to be thinking along similar lines. His already grim expression darkens further, the ghost of the monster he used to be on the battlefield._

_“I'm sure you can easily deduce it.”_

_A challenge, half hearted and hollow, but a challenge nonetheless. Ryoma's eyes narrow and his hand itches to grab hold of Raijinto. He steps closer, staring defiantly at the taller man._

_“Corrin.”_

_Prince Xander nods solemnly. “Precisely.”_

_Ryoma's mouth curls downwards in displeasure. “If you're implying I'm willing to _trade_ her to Nohr like a slave-”_

_“It is my understanding,” the infuriatingly puzzling man cuts him off, and had the situation been any different Ryoma would have never hesitated to run him through with Raijinto. Still, no matter how much disrespect he may be shown, Ryoma has been raised to never attack who does not have a weapon to defend themselves. “That Corrin wishes to go back to Nohr, once we've made it back to our world.”_

_Ryoma has heard that as well. A bitter pill to swallow indeed. “The decision is hers and only hers to take. But if that is the case, I don't see why you've so foolishly sought me out. Isn't Corrin's wish, ill advised as I may personally think it is, playing in your favor?”_

_His rebuttal is swift and stoic, and so is his posture, with his back straight and arms crossed. Corrin's choice might hurt like a blade dragged against bare skin, but he'll be damned if he lets it show._

_He expects Prince Xander to flaunt Corrin's choice - Nohr's _victory_ , no doubt - in his face like Garon did with Sumeragi's corpse, to show he's every ounce the cold hearted demon his father was._

_He definitely is not expecting Prince Xander's expression to twist in the most agonizing pain Ryoma has ever seen depicted on a man's face. He does not expect the other prince's shoulders to sag downwards, his back to hunch, crushed under a weight he cannot carry alone._

_“Quite the contrary, Prince Ryoma. In fact, you find me in complete agreement with you, though I suspect the reasons behind our shared conclusion might differ. Regardless, the core of the matter remains: Corrin must _not_ come back to Nohr.”_

_That piques Ryoma's interest. “What? Why?”_

_Prince Xander folds his hands behind his back and slowly starts pacing away from the tent, head hanging low a pained grimace stiffening his jaw. He looks like a man who is being dragged to his death sentence._

_After the briefest hesitation, Ryoma follows, easily matching his pace to the other man's. The Vallite breeze laughs in their faces._

_“In our current situation, I cannot be one hundred percent certain. But if Azura's account is to be believed, more than a year has passed in our world since the time we've travelled to Valla. An year since the disappearance of the _entire_ royal family of Nohr.”_

_Prince Xander throws him a pointed look that Ryoma returns in full as the gears in his brain speed up, easily coming to the same conclusion the Nohrian prince has._

_“You fear an usurper has taken the vacant throne once Garon vanished.”_

_“The men and women my father has surrounded him with in the later half of his reign…” Prince Xander drawls out the word 'father’ through clenched teeth as though it is painful to even say out loud. “They’re among the most corrupt and morally abject people I've ever had the misfortune to know. Greed and thirst for power or blood - more often than not, both - are their only drives, and the more they got from Garon, the more they craved. They're the ones who had all to gain from my father's tyrannical command. Leeches and vultures building their fortune over the suffering of the people of Nohr.”_

_Ryoma says nothing, disgusted by the mere thought. Such lowlives would never be tolerated in the poorest areas of Hoshido, much less in the royal court._

_The thought of Corrin coming back to such a dreadful homecoming party thoroughly sickens him._

_“What do you plan to do about it? Why are you telling me, who will soon take the throne in Hoshido, about the inner turmoils of Nohr?”_

_Unless he wants to ask for military support to his cause. Hoshido would likely be able to afford it, in terms of resources and number of soldiers to stantiate. Whether or not such soldiers would be willing to abandon their families and help what was once their opponent is another matter as a whole._

_“I do not wish to ask a single man of Hoshido,” Prince Xander speaks as though he can read Ryoma's mind with disarming ease. “The conflict that will soon tear Nohr apart is Nohr's problem and Nohr's alone. I would prove to be a truly poor leader to my people, if I were to ask my former enemy to support my cause, wouldn't I?”_

_Despite himself, an amused smirks fights his way through the shock and curls Ryoma's lips upwards._

_“Afraid to let Hoshido into Nohr's inner politics, I see.”_

_“We may be allies and at peace with each other, and I fully intend to keep true to that vow.” The Nohrian prince replies with a voice of steel. “But the throne of Nohr will be exclusively Nohr's property as long as I, or any of my siblings, draw breath.”_

_Ryoma nods again, and with that the short lived tension is promptly diffused. They walk aimlessly, wandering slowly away from camp, but not as far as to lose sight of it, nestled in the shadow of a tall hill. Ryoma's stride is confident and fearless despite the distance, reassured by the hidden eyes of his retainers in the darkness and by the comforting weight of Raijinto at his hip._

_Way more disconcerting is that the Nohrian, alone and with no weapon in sight to fend for himself, appears just as brazen and void of any concern for his life._

_“If the royal family of Nohr does not wish to request for military or financial support for your upcoming civil war,” Ryoma finally speaks up again after several minutes of pure silence. “Then what is it you're proposing to me?”_

_Prince Xander comes to an abrupt halt. His face is once again contorted in unimaginable pain, and he hesitates, struggling ferociously with an invisible enemy to get the words out._

_“To keep Corrin safe within Hoshido's borders.”_

_Ryoma had already figured it out, but that doesn't mean he's any less in shock. Only his strict upbringing and firm discipline prevents him from gaping openly at the Nohrian man. The wind blows harder._

_“This war will be a turning point for Nohr, one that could make it either rise anew from its ashes or collapse in shambles forever. Though we, on our part, will do all of what is humanly possible to keep the number of lives lost to the bare minimum, there is no guarantee we will be successful in the task.” The Nohrian prince raises a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. His hand shakes within the clawed gauntlet. “Corrin is not of Nohr by birth, nor she rejoys in the woes of war. I will not allow her to be dragged in a battle she has no part in.”_

_“She will never agree to that. It's not in her nature to deny her assistance to whomever needs it. You should know this better than most.”_

_“I'm aware,” Prince Xander chokes out. “And that's where you will come into play.”_

_Ryoma does not appreciate how the man seems to be taking for granted his support. He scowls._

_“You seem to be awfully sure I will take up your offer.”_

_It's a bluff, obviously. He spent the better part of his life training to gather the strength he would need to steal his beloved little sister back from the monsters who took her away so cowardly, and even the most recent twists and turns have proved to be no match to his desire to bring her home with him and the rest of their family, to bask in the warmth of the Hoshidan sun as they pray to Mikoto's soul, finally reunited at last._

_Garon's eldest lets out a mirthless laugh. “You will, Prince Ryoma. You are an older brother, much like I am. Forgive my brazenness, but I know for experience there is nothing an older brother wouldn't do to keep his family safe. I'm willingly giving up every claim I might stake on her, for virtually nothing to gain out of it. I would dare to say it's a rather advantageous deal for you and your family, isn't it?”_

_Ryoma, although raised in a rather sane court the way he was - compared to what he has heard of Nohr's, Hoshido's royal court feels like heaven itself - can easily see and acknowledge the excellent manipulative skills of the Nohrian Crown Prince. He wonders idly whether it was the need to escape Garon's control that taught the man so flawlessly well._

_“And what would you have me to do, assuming I agree to your plan?”_

_“Convince her,” the reply is immediate, short and clipped. “Do everything you can think of to keep her well away from Nohr.”_

_“If she has already taken her decision, there is very little I will be able to do to sway her. She might very well be the most stubborn woman I've ever laid eyes on.”_

_For the first time since this conversation began, a genuine smile curls the Nohrian's lips upwards and softens his angular features. The fondness in his eyes in unmistakable, and so is the deep sadness veiling them._

_“I know.”_

_Fondness. Or perhaps something else entirely. Just the thought, blurry and shapeless, is enough to make Ryoma's blood curdle. His hand finds Raijinto on its own accord and his fingers clutch desperately at the hilt of the blade. The legendary sword thrums soothingly with crackling, electric power._

_Prince Xander's eyes find his and hold his gaze head on, unperturbed. Whether he cares or not that Ryoma is an inch away from unleashing the full power of Raijinto on him escapes Ryoma's understanding._

_“That's why, should it come to the worst case scenario and your efforts prove fruitless, I will drive her away personally. Her steely determination is as strong as the grounds of faith and trust it's built on. Its weak points are few and well hidden, but fatal once struck.”_

_The weathered soldier that has single-handedly cut down hundreds of Hoshido's finest men finally peeks from the cracks in the mask, the Nohrian General that struck fear into Ryoma's most faithful soldiers and lieutenants with his name alone, forebringer of death and doom. Only this time the battlefield is much more valuable than any mere patch of border land._

_“You're going to inflict her a wound she'll never heal from.” Ryoma snarls, fear for his sister's well being, both physical and psychological, threatening to submerge him. “She'll never recover from the pain and shock.”_

_“You're making your sister a grievous disservice,” the damned puppeteer Prince says with faux aloofness that doesn't match the unbridled agony wafting from his clenched and trembling fists. “Surrounded by the warm and unconditional love of your family, her days bright and clear, she will undoubtedly make a speedy recovery and forget Nohr's woes in little time.”_

_Ryoma is sorely tempted to strike the daft, completely mad prince, diplomacy and peace treaty be damned. To hear the man talk so casually of his dear sister, as though she is just another puppet in his hand, is nothing short of maddening. Raijinto's power surges up in response to his heart's desire to attack and sparks surround the blade. The prince arches an eyebrow, not amused._

_“It will kill her, in heart and spirit.” Ryoma spits venomously, fuming with rage._

_“Then I trust you and your family will support through the worst of it and quicken her recovery.”_

_“Even if she were to survive the shock, she might be cursing your name and Nohr to hell.” Ryoma’s voice teeters on the edge of a belligerent yell._

_“Then so _be it_ ,” on the other hand, the Nohrian's hiss is barely audible over the playful breeze that seems to constantly sweep across Valla's bountiful and empty fields, but the sheer force behind the words is such that even in his incensed state Ryoma is forced to take a step back. “I will gladly take the hit and have her spit my name like a prophanity, basking in Hoshido's sun but alive, rather than wrapped in our family's colors and buried in Nohr's sterile soil.”_

_The two men glare savagely at each other, chins lifted defiantly and shoulders squared, a silent war of wills with no other sword but their own being taking place, every invisible blow parried and swiftly countered._

_In the end, bitter as it is to accept, Ryoma is the first who relents. His right hand finally lets go of Raijinto and drops limply to his side._

_“If that is the length you are willing to go to ensure her safety, than you shall have our support. We all will play our part. However, I must ask whether you've really thought it through. She may not want to come back to Nohr anymore, even less to see you.”_

_“It's a risk I must take. And as for the rest,” a very grim smile flashes through, underlining how exhausted the man truly is, all drawn lines and gaunt cheeks and dark shadows around his eyes. “If all goes according to plan, she may never have to concern herself with my presence again.”_

_And that's the moment it hits, the instant realization bits its hooked fangs into the flesh of Ryoma's consciousness and injects its venom, slow, but fatal. This time he does gape at the man in dark armor, for the enormity of what this mad man is planning to do is astounding._

_“You-”_

_But the man interrupts him. “My father left a bothersome heritage. By returning Corrin, daughter of Mikoto, to Hoshido, two of the greatest debts he - and by proxy, I - had contracted will be resolved. The third is towards the people of Nohr, and as Garon's eldest son and heir it is not one I will back out of. You will not need to worry about the peace between Nohr and Hoshido; it's already been arranged that, whatever happens from this day on, the alliance our countries have established will never be violated again. I vouch for all of my siblings on the matter.”_

_“You're out of your mind.” Ryoma mutters in amazement and, to be entirely frank, fear, for a man who can treat everything and everyone, even himself - _especially_ himself - with such amounts of cold detachment can only be either a fool or a genius. Prince Xander smirks darkly, amused despite everything._

_“Perhaps. But now I must bid you farewell, Prince Ryoma. It won't be long till the sun rises and we'll be forced to set out once again. And remember, not a word to Corrin.”_

_“Of course.”_

_Prince Xander nods, clearly relieved; then turns his back on Ryoma - dangerous move - and stalks away, the dark metal of his armor melting into the thick curtain of the Vallite night until only the faint glow of his pale curls and the purple cape at his back is discernible anymore. Ryoma vaguely wonders if that is a premonition for what is to come._

_He stays, watches the other prince as he vanishes into the darkness, dissolves in it as though he always belonged in it. The moon flickers from time to time, peeking out of the royal blue clouds to soak Ryoma in its pale, comforting light. A prayer escapes his lips before he can hold himself back._

_“May the gods save us all.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannd there it is, the core of the matter. More details will be revealed pretty soon, I think, but this is the premise this fic was born out of. Unoriginal, I know lol
> 
> The whole second half is a giant ass flashback, the conversation took place after Anankos's defeat and before they made it back to the Bottomless Canyon. Just, you know, for the sake of clarity lmao
> 
> Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoyed!


	6. Chapter 6

The battle is dismayingly short and one sided, to the point Leo is unsure whether it's worth to be called a battle at all.

Despite the numbers and the harsh field playing in their favor, the wyvern riders are easily outmaneuvered and shot down by Niles's pinpoint shots and the combined efforts of Leo, Odin and Nyx. Camilla and Beruka fly back and forth, their axes swinging an flashing ominously as they provide aerial support to whomever needs it and effortlessly slaughter who is fool enough to stand in their way.

A truly poor spectacle. Although it ultimately turned out advantageous for them, Leo can't possibly deny the pitiful show of strength and strategic skill put up by the opposing Nohrian troops - the _enemy_ troops, he forces himself to think, not without a light grimace - is nothing short of disappointing.

_I've always known Iago was only good at some hocus pocus and grovelling, but this is too shameful even for his standards._

So he inwardly muses as Brynhildr's power flashes and her spindly and thick roots sprout from the withered ground; in a dark flash they rise and spread around the closest enemy, the branches entrapping the rider in a deadly embrace and piercing the wyvern's wings as though they're made of old, dry parchment instead of thick leather and scales as hard as stone. Both rider and wyvern wail in pain as they crash to the ground in a heap of limbs and metal plating. The sound of bone snapping and flesh tearing is sickening.

“Please…” the man - boy, he can't be older than sixteen - whimpers as he struggles weakly against the branches pinning him to the ground and Leo approaches, free hand already poised above his head, magic power collecting into his open palm, waiting to unleash its force and strike the blow that will snuff the enemy's life. His bulging hazelnut eyes are full of tears on his youthful, flushed face. He looks like he's seen Death itself. He's not too far off the mark. “Please, mercy…”

He has a Southern accent, from the rural areas south to Windmire. One of the very few and small patches of fertile land Nohr has to offer. This boy must have been forcibly recruited from the farms against his will, torn from his home and family, provided with a basic training as wyvern rider and thrust on the battlefield to die fighting for someone else.

The hand clutching Brynhildr tightens, the legendary tome glows with energy, begs to be released and tear into the flesh of the man responsible for this unsightly mess.

Their eyes meet again, and Leo's outstretched hand whips down. Xander's briefing of days past, days that feel like a lifetime ago, echoes in the forefront of his mind.

The roots, rueful but obedient, slacken and slither away, retreat like dark snakes into the dead ground they were born out of. The boy gasps in surprise, the wyvern lets out a gleeful sound and props itself to its lower limbs.

“What-”

“Run,” Leo cuts the boy off harshly. His heart may have faltered and given into these accursed _feelings_ he had been made to vow to stomp out of his soul, but that doesn't mean he's willing to cuddle the boy and explain. If he knows what's best for him he will jump up his mount and make a run for it. “Before I change my mind. You're no soldier; killing you would bring no honor nor glory. Flee away from here, from Nohr, and never turn back.”

He yanks on the reins and sharply turns away from the fallen boy without a second glance, spurs his steed back towards where the battle still rages at its peak. But he's not quick enough to avoid hearing the boy's voice once more.

“Thank you, Your Majesty! May you be blessed!!”

It's not the first time he's been addressed this way, of course. It is customary to openly heap praise and bless members of the royal family at their passage, but this time it's so heartfelt, so _genuine_ , without lingering bile or inintelligible curses hissed with poison on the tongue, that Leo's heart nearly stops right there and then, caught off guard by the novelty of being praised for what he'd done in favor of someone else - an _”enemy!!”_ , Garon's voice booms indignantly in his head, and he's a _”fool, he's going to kill you as soon as you turn his back on him”_ , screeches the voice of a woman whose face he tries to forget every time he stares into the mirror - and being appreciated for his mercy instead of the number of lives he'd ruthlessly taken.

His mouth dries and his tongue swells and a suspicious burn prickles at the corner of his eyes. He spurs the horse further, kicks the heels of his boots into the rippling muscles of the beast in the way Xander taught him to never do unless he wants to have his horse hate him, and never turns back. Whether the boy lives or dies in this skirmish is not his business any longer.

He thinks Corrin would be proud.

He _hopes_ Corrin would be proud.

The image of her crumpling on herself, eyes wide in disbelief and lack of understanding, of _betrayal_ is still seared on the back of his lids, haunts his nights and stains his days.

She isn't proud. If things unfold as planned, she will never hear word of this battle at all. Never will she return to Nohr, and she will spend the rest of her days in peaceful sunlight and endless feasts, surrounded by the family she was stolen from and all but amnesiac about Nohr and its accursed royal family. A stain in her memory, a black shadow that will gradually fade into the light of blissful ignorance.

And it's fine. It's the way it's supposed to be.

He gallops into the fray, ignores the silent and heavy looks he garners from Odin and Niles as he joins them again, and Brynhildr glows when she rejoins Siegfried. A cursory look is enough to tell him he was not the only one who realized the youth and lack of experience of the opposing units and whose heart had grown tender. Many men plead for mercy, and Elise has her work cut out for her, mending their wounds with a smile as Effie and Arthur loom behind, just threatening enough to make clear what fate awaited the fool who dared to take advantage and hurt the youngest and kindest princess. There are hardly any injured in their small party.

After more than two thirds of the opposing army has fallen and surrendered, it doesn't take Xander long to force the Malig Knight down on his knobbly knees, both his axe and tome rendered useless in front of Siegfried's might.

“Mercy!” The sallow faced man bellows like the boy he had mindlessly led to certain death. But unlike the boy, his plump form quivers and ripples as he raises his chubby and soft hands into the air, beady eyes crossed to keep track of Siegfried's point pressed dangerously close to his throat. This man has never known hardship. “I am but a humble servant! I was forced to follow the orders of the usurper king, or else he would have slayed me! I have no fault!! Please, Your Highnesses, I implore you and grovel in front of you, spare my life, and you shall not regret it.”

Rage makes Leo's blood boil and twists his insides in tight knots. He has seen this typical behaviour of Iago and his henchmen more times than he can count. Even the young farm boy hadn't had the shameless to beg this openly for his life. To think this is coming from a highly seated general of the Nohrian army makes it even more sickening.

Leo dismounts and steps forward to stand at Xander's right side; on the left, Marzia flutters down to the ground and Camilla gracefully slides down the back of the beast, swinging playfully the axe in her hand with a wide smile that teeters on the unhinged.

“I remember you,” she sing songs mockingly. “You are Roderigo, Iago's faithful servant and shadow. There was hardly a time the two of you could be seen apart, him barking orders and you grovelling to the ground.”

There is a pause. None of the bystanders dare to breathe too loud in fear of the temperamental princess's rising ire.

“Much like you are doing now.”

Roderigo's unremarkable features sag in fear, his short and oily black hair matted with dust and plastered all over his scalp and cheeks with cold sweat.

“Your Highnesses, Your Graces, oh Enlightened Majesty, I beg-”

“Silence.”

Xander speaks calmly, never raises his voice, and yet his order is absolute and rattles through the very ground they're standing on. Everyone tenses up. Xander dismounts, his steps heavier than the world itself, Siegfried still unsheathed and pointed at the throat of the fallen Malig Knight. Tendrils of purple energy coat and coil around the blade like wispy snakes.

Roderigo gulps and scrunches his weasely eyes closed. Nobody moves a muscle. Peri licks her lips like a predator about to sink its fangs into the prey. Elise clutches her staff with fearful eyes. For a moment, Leo can pretend he's back at Father's court, and that he's about to witness yet another execution, yet another officer's head roll to the ground. The familiarity of it all is, if anything, somewhat soothing. That's a scenario he's well prepared to face.

He feels queasy the moment he catches himself musing about that.

“Let the young recruits go.” Xander orders, and the illusion is dispelled; they're a ragtag group of fallen royals without a land and without a home, the dome above their head is made up of steely gray clouds whirling in elaborate patterns no artist could ever recreate and there is no Father in sight. For once, there's no shadow looming. “It is not my wish to spill any more Nohrian blood, especially of young and brave men such as these. Elise, tend to their injuries and their mounts, so that they can leave of their own volition. Camilla, find a fitting place to set camp so we can all rest in preparation for tomorrow's march.”

Elise seemingly relaxes; Camilla clicks her tongue and it sounds like a whip tearing through flesh. Xander throws her a pointed look and she nods before turning away and leading the rest of the group away to set camp. Leo watches her stomp away with Elise and the rest of the troops, and he's glad 

“Your Majesty!” The aforementioned man bows and kneels and kisses the ground, overall makes a great show of reverence and servility that makes Leo feel greasy and in desperate need of a bath just by witnessing it. “So gracious, so noble, a true king-”

“Quiet, wretch.” Xander growls as he rounds on Roderigo, in an uncannily accurate impression of Father. Siegfried flashes and singes at the delicate flesh on the man's exposed neck. “If you wish to leave this place as a living man, you'd do better pray you have information of any value to me. Leo.”

Of course, this is his role to play. “Yes, brother.”

All it takes is a flick of the wrist to get Brynhildr's power surge and thick roots bloom out of the dry ground, coiling and twisting around Roderigo's plump form and pinning him to the closest wall of rock. The man gasps and tries to struggle free, but his efforts are vain; in no time he's completely enveloped, reduced powerless and motionless in Brynhildr's deadly grasp.

“Now, speak truthfully and wholly, and we might spare your miserable life. In what condition does Nohr verse?”

Roderigo grunts in pain as a vine twists around his wrist, sinking into the inflamed skin. “The almighty court of Nohr has never been through a more prosperous age. King Iago and Queen Daniela's enlightened rule has- AARGH!”

At the names of the two vilest and most disgusting servants of Father's court, Leo can't quite help a dismayed groan, though the sound drowns as Xander's fist impacts against Roderigo's cheek, the metal gauntlet cutting the soft, stubble covered cheek.

“I can't care less about the state of the court. I want to know about the people living in Windmire and the rest of the kingdom. Find a use for your tongue, or Siegfried will cleave it for you.”

Roderigo coughs and whimpers, blood gurgling out of his gaping mouth. “The kingdom… is in a state of unrest… the Hoshidan troops keep pushing Nohr's army away from the borders, and rebellions keep springing up in major towns and soldiers keep defecting, further weakening the already impoverished ranks. A mandatory enrollment for all young men and women is in place, but the morale is low and quality is waning. Stupid, ignorant fools, easily prey to the prattle of those damned rebels of Cheve.”

Leo's interest is instantly piqued, all exhaustion promptly forgotten. So Cheve had not fallen in Iago's hand just yet…

He and his brother exchange a poignant glance. Leo would swear he sees a triumphant shadow cross his brother's usually stony features, and a manic glint lits up his eyes. But it's a fleeting moment; a heartbeat later Xander is stepping back, Siegfried lowered but still active and ready to shoot dark magic at a moment's notice.

“Very well, it seems there was some worth in keeping you alive, after all.”

“Your Majesty, I implore-”

“Leo,” Xander talks over the prisoner as though he's not even there, “please conjure a restraining cell able to block any sort of magic contact. I'll have Laslow and Peri take turns to guard it for the night. When you're finished here, come over to my tent, we have much to discuss.”

An unusual request, but far from the most outlandish one he had to comply to. It takes nothing to shift Brynhildr's steely vines and branches into a cell, and even easier is to magically isolate it from the outside world. He had cast the same spell on himself and his siblings to escape Iago's scrying more times than he can count.

He nods, but Xander is already stepping away towards where Camilla had set camp, lost in thought of wyvern and lances, of rebels and scarlet suits of armor.

* * *

That night, camp is thrumming with a sort of subdued tension, not unlike the one preceding the battle of Anankos. It seems the earlier skirmish has managed to shake the troops out of their uncertain torpor, to wake them to the painful reality that yes, they are at war with their own home country.

Laslow's steps drag across the gravelly floor as he leaves his guarding spot and Peri takes his place, still mildly sulking after Lord Xander explicitly denied her permission to kill the prisoner, or even to 'maim him a little bit’, as she eloquently put it.

Knowing her, Laslow would hold his reserves on whether the blood-thirsty woman would be able to keep her dangerous tendencies in check, but he also knows she holds Lord Xander in too high regard to disobey so blatantly to a direct order of his.

At least, so he hopes.

The camp is quiet upon his return, though candlelight filter through many a tent, and the infirmary is bustling with activity. The fallen and rescued riders apparently have immediately taken to the youngest princess and have been helping her out in whatever way they can. No matter how many times he sees it happen, the sheer power of a well placed smile will never cease to amaze him. He thinks he sees what Odin means when he says Elise reminds him of his mother.

A groan nearly escapes him at the thought. Before he can hold himself back, his hand slides into the satchel hanging at his hip and rummages, fingers closing in the small stone sitting at the very bottom. The smooth, round gem is warm at the touch, as it has been since the day the evil dragon Anankos fell. Untrained in the magic arts as he is, even he can easily divine the meaning if such a repentine change. 

The portal to go home is available, just a wish away from being opened.

Years of carefully crafted lies and subterfuge, of longing and wishing, all of that could finally be undone in a heartbeat. Even now, if he so wished, he could hold the stone tightly, let his eyes flutter close one last time over Nohr's harsh and gloomy environment and a moment later open them only to be greeted by Ylisse's bountiful fields and joyful town, Nohr's woes all but forgotten. Home has never been so close as it is now, literally resting in the palm of his hand.

Still, _still_ -

“Shit.” Laslow curses under his breath as he catches sight of his liege's tent. Light filters through the thin gaps into the fabric and shadows move and shift quite frantically. He's quite sure Lord Xander and Lord Leo are having yet another argument. They're becoming increasingly frequent over these last few days.

Not his problem, not anymore.

Or at least that's what he wishes to say. But the grasp on the stone slackens and his hand retreats out of the satchel on its own accord, sliding down until it finds rest against the hilt of the sword. The metal feels soothing, familiar. 

This is also home.

_Shit_.

He hurries past, head ducked down and scowling fiercely at the ground, so much that he fails to realize someone is standing in front of his tent, likely waiting for him as his shift came to an end, until he feels his shoulder collide with something and nearly tackling it down.

“Hey! Watch where you're going!”

Oh, no.

“Damn, Selena, I'm sorry, I was quite lost in thought and didn't see you.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Selena shoots him a withering glare and immediately lets go of Odin's outstretched arm - that he has so chivalrously offered to save Selena from an ignominious fall on her butt - as though she was burned. She cocks her hip and arches an eyebrow, flipping a strand of long crimson hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, whatever.” She huffs haughtily, though a moment later much of her temper, always so easily to stoke up and nearly everlasting once it gets going, seems to diffuse, leaving a cold determination in its wake. “We gotta talk.”

He glances up at Odin's surprisingly silent figure. A grim expression clouds the usually cheerful features, one that speaks of whirling doubts and conflicted emotions. Laslow is all too acquainted with the very same issue.

“Fine,” he says finally, as though he doesn't know Selena requires no permission of his to speak her mind. “Let's talk.”

Odin and Selena clear the way - it's his tent, after all, and although they have camped together more times than they can count, it's an unspoken rule that the owner enters first. Basic manners, or at least an attempt - and he leads the way inside. He busies himself with turning on the candle while Odin casts a quick silencing enchantment over the tent. Selena simply undoes Laslow's bedroll and plops on it as though she owns the place.

“Well,” Laslow says slowly when he's checked everything is in place, Odin has sat down at Selena's side and Laslow has resigned himself to take the floor. Never let it be said he can't be a true gentleman. “What is so important to require a meeting in my tent? Or do you finally feel like professing your undying love for me, _mon cherie_? Cause I'm all for getting swept by the ardent waves of love, but I have to admit three is kind of a crowd even for me.”

Odin snorts and Selena's lips twitch, as though fighting tooth and nail not to curl up in an amused smile. She just crosses her arms and puts her best glower on.

“By the gods, now is really not the time to be playing Casanova for shits and giggles, you dumbass. You know what I want to talk about.”

Without waiting for his answer, Selena grabs her own purse - the most recent she bought in Cyrkensia before the city was laid down by Anankos's invaders - and pulls out a stone, a perfect twin of the ones Laslow and Odin own, respectively. The little gem glints innocently in the dim candlelight, helpless and harmless into Selena's open palm.

“And?”

“And you know what I think about it.”

Yes, he does. It's not the first time this conversation has come up, though never with such urgency. Today's encounter and the confirmation of Lord Xander's worst fears changed everything.

“Selena-”

“We should go. This is not our fight. We know it, they know it. We have completed our mission - with astounding success, if I may add - and now it's time for us to bail and finally get home. You know, the peaceful home we have fought so hard for, even going back in time to make sure it could be saved from certain doom. And did I mention the number of deaths and fights we had to claw through to get there?”

There she goes again, getting all worked up and letting her temper get the best of her. Her tone is harsh as she speaks quicker and quicker, her breath shallow and fast, but there's a flicker of panic, fear in her eyes, a spark of uncertainty in her posture. 

She makes a good point and she knows it. Hell, even Laslow acknowledges it. But the crease in her brow speaks not of indifference; it speaks of fear.

Fear that they might die fighting for a foreign land, the way the Scarlet lady has.

Fear that if they don't leave soon enough they'll become too attached, too fond of these calloused Nohrians and their sterile lands and love-starved soul, a polar opposite of Ylisse and its peaceful people.

After all, they might have infiltrated Nohr under fake aliases, but that doesn't mean the memories they made, the bonds they forged with coworkers and - does he dare to say it, to admit it out loud - _friends_ is any less real.

Laslow doesn't say anything. He _can't_ say anything, for the same fear paralyzes his vocal chords. It's with an immense effort that he turns to Odin.

“What do you say?”

Odin heaves a deep, long sigh and crosses his arms, shoulders sagged and head hanging low. “Selena makes a point, I will concede. I would be lying if I said I never thought to just summon forth the darkest arcane powers this Chosen body of mine has been gifted with and use it to get back to our world. I do miss my family, and there's no darkness dark enough to erase that fact.”

Laslow senses the 'however’ coming from miles ahead.

“Still,” oh well, close enough, “the idea of dumping Lord Leo just like this, out of the blue now that we _know_ he and his family can really use all the help they can get, just doesn't sit right with me.”

“Of course I'm not _happy_ to leave them in this mess, too! I genuinely like Lady Camilla, you know? Especially when she doesn't threaten to chop my legs off,” Selena snarls all too quickly, obviously peeved by the implication that she doesn't give a damn about her liege. “But you can't pretend you don't know the situation is incredibly dire and that the plan is suicidal!”

“We still have to see where Cheve's rebels will choose to stand. We can't make assumptions yet.”

Speaking is clearly a mistake. Selena - no, _Severa_ , come on _Inigo_ , get it right - stands up abruptly and instantly rounds on him, hands clenched in tight fists at her side. They're shaking.

“Do you really think Cheve will offer support to the former Crown Prince they spent so long fighting off? After their leader disappeared and died in mysterious circumstances? Be serious, Inigo!!”

Owain stands up too and wraps a comforting arm around Severa's shoulders. Severa growls but, much to Laslow's - Inigo, goddamnit - surprise. He shoots Inigo a warning look.

“Come on now, it is not our time to despair yet. The radiant path in front of us is a winding one, and we, Chosen warriors of Dark and Light alike, have still a long road to journey.”

But his long winded rant falls on deaf ears.

“I don't want to watch them die.” Severa whispers, suddenly tired. “Because you know that's what's going to happen, what Lord Xander is planning to do. I don't want to see it unfold in front of my eyes. I would much rather go back now, so that at least in my memory they will forever stay alive and get their happy ending. Is that so much to ask?”

She slumps ever so slightly against Owain's form, and just the fact she does, that she allows herself to appear less than confident, is a red flag like no other of how truly serious the situation is. Owain looks nothing short of shocked, and Inigo is pretty sure a mirroring expression is morphing on his own face.

He understands what Severa is trying to say, of course. He too doesn't wish to witness the carnage that is about to unleash, to wonder who is going to be next, whose voice he will soon never hear again. It would be easier, so much easier, to do as Severa says and fade away before that scenario can become a dreadful, and dreadfully likely, reality.

For the second time that evening he absently reaches out and pulls out the stone. It's still warm, thrumming with unfathomable magic capable of warping time and space and reality itself, pulsing with enticing promises that will probably never be uphold. His fingers coil into a fist. The decision floats up to his mouth without much hesitation.

“I'm staying.”

He doesn't lift his eyes from his closed fist, and the other two don't move an inch, so he can't quite guess what is going through their minds. It must be one of the sensational times Severa actually stays quiet.

“I know it sounds crazy - and it _is_ , mind you…” his voice quivers, and he's glad he's sitting down, otherwise he would have probably lost his balance and fallen on his ass. The world is spinning too fast and the meager supper he had earlier is dancing a furious tango with his insides. It's just a matter of time until the final casqué comes up and he spills the entire contents of his stomach on the floor. “But I vowed to serve Lord Xander till the end. I just… _can't_ ditch him now that he needs someone at his side more than ever.”

In the many years he's known and served the man, he doubts he has ever seen the prince look as gaunt and zombie-like than he does now. He is putting all of himself on the line, and try as he might Inigo - _Laslow_ \- can't simply turn a blind eye on it. At the very least he's going to keep true to his vow, and serve at the prince's side till the very end.

For an unbearable minute, nothing moves and nobody speaks. Then Owain kneels and squeezes his shoulder. He's smiling, but it's a far cry from his usual boisterous and mildly arrogant grin. It's more subdued, a tad fearful perhaps - or maybe that's just him seeing things - but so much more genuine, and Laslow feels an immense gratitude surge up from within, as he finally knows he's not crazy, or at least he's not the only one, to feel this way towards a world that he used to believe was a tale for children to fall asleep too.

“We're in this together, my Chosen brother,” Odin declares. “My sword hand is twitching already.”

They both look up to the third member of their little team. Severa has lost much of her anger, only a deep sadness seems to be left.

“You stubborn fools. What ever did I do to deserve getting stuck in an alternate universe with the two of you?”

But there is no bite in her voice, only fear of loss and abandonment.

“You don't have to stay. If you so wish, you can go back this instant. We're not going to hold it against you. Arguably, it would be the smartest choice you could do.”

“But you care for Lady Camilla and Beruka, don't you?” Odin follows up. “The three of us know all too well what it means to actively change the future. Perhaps, if we stay, we might have a chance to make it right.”

Severa regards them in stony silence for a moment - it serves for a pretty hilarious sight, with the two guys crouched on the floor and she standing at her full height, towering over them - then she huffs and shakes her head.

“ _Fine_ , good grief,” Selena too collapses on her knees, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I suppose someone has to babysit you and make sure you come out of it alive.”

Laslow beams his most dashing, lady-killer smile and winks.

“Aww, I knew you loved me, deep down.”

He ducks down just in time to dodge the flying pillow aimed at his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao OOC af, I'm so sorry. Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I tell myself to keep it brief, for once in my life, the more I keep blabbing on and on and on, gosh dang it. Have nearly another 7k words Xander-centric flashback, _again_. I need to work on my self-restraint.
> 
> Probably OOC as heck. Also, TW for psychological abuse, emotional manipulation and mentions of arranged marriages for a very much underage Elise. Also, depressed bean Xander. But let's be real, with the father he got, who wouldn't be depressed as all heck? I definitely would.

There was a time, not even that many years ago, when Windmire's alleys were constantly lit and bustling with activity. From the occasional booths selling food to the several shops that opened early in the morning to make the most out of Nohr's few hours of natural light, the capital's streets and avenues were hardly deserted despite the harsh conditions as people strutted back and forth, determined to keep themselves and the town afloat no matter what.

Now, finally strangled in Garon and his henchmen's choking grip, Windmire is dark and empty upon Xander's return; no guard patrols the unlit and dirty alleys, no salesman boasts about his product to attract a clientele, no one sweeps the street anymore, leaving it coated in dust and dirt fit for the rats that sometimes poke their head from the sewers, sniffing the air full of hope, only to duck back down when it becomes apparent there's no food, no form of life, to be found on the surface.

Xander's insides coil into a tight knot as he watches the foul creature flee from the ghost town. How could Father allow Nohr's condition to fall so low that even rats were steering clear of the town's main street?

He clenches his reins tighter and tugs harder on Alec, spurring him forward. The obedient horse falls in step at his side with no objection of sort. A step behind him, Laslow whistles softly.

“Wow, it's really gotten worse since the last time we've been here, hasn't it?”

Peri hums distractedly, pulling on her own steed. “Yeah, I miss the rows.”

“Just because you enjoyed jumping in and making them so much worse.”

She cackles shamelessly. “I mean, it's not a real fight if blood doesn't flow.”

Laslow lets out long, suffering sigh, right in the moment something moves in the darkness of a nearby alley. The whole party - five people in total, as Xander hadn't wished to take away too many soldiers from the front when he was asked to leave for Windmire at once by Garon himself - freezes on the spot, nerves taut and hands ready to fly for their weapons.

“Who's there?”

Xander's call seems to go unheeded for a long, nerve-wrecking minute, but then two tiny silhouettes dart out of the alley, the filthy soles of their little bare feet pattering on the uneven pavement and lifting small clouds of dirt in their wake. The two kids, filthy and dressed in rags too dirty to discern the colors of the fabric anymore, run as fast as their short, too thin legs can carry them, throwing only a frightened look over their shoulder at Xander. Something silvery glints in the hand of the girl.

“Thieves!” One of the two knights grumbles, waving his spear threateningly at the two fleeting children as they disappear behind a corner, plunging right into a second pitch-black alley. “Probably stole something and now they're going to resell it on the black market. Little wretches.”

The black market that is known to be located in the underground tunnels running beneath Windmire. At this point, Xander wouldn't be surprised if Windmire's entire population decided to abandon the town altogether and permanently settle in the tunnels.

Laslow throws him an uncertain look. “Should we give chase or...?”

It's quite clear he has no desire to do so, and Xander doubts it's due to a mere unwillingness to venture down in the tunnels. For all his flirty manners and clean figure, Xander has long learned Laslow has no qualms to get his hands dirty whenever the need arises.

“No,” Xander finally replies and makes his point further across by averting his eyes and redirect his attention to the road ahead, where the dark frame of Krakenburg looms and hovers threateningly over their heads, stronger and bigger with every step they take. “Leave them be. We have far more pressing matters to attend to, and it would not be wise to make our king wait longer than strictly necessary.”

Laslow nods, visibly relieved by the fact he isn't being ordered to apprehend and possibly punish two kids that are doing all they can to keep the boat afloat and survive; Peri merely shrugs, as though the matter hardly concerned her to begin with. The two generals fume and seem to be about to protest, but after a brief, pointed glare of Xander's they are quick to shut their mouth.

The rest of the march is quick. Tempers already flaring and impatient to get this inconvenience over already, the Crown Prince and his meager escorting party weave through Windmire's venues and roads with little no hesitation, barely sparing a look to the side, lest they stumble upon another unpleasant surprise, another distraction. All in all, it has to take them little longer than forty minutes to reach Krakenburg's gates.

The gates are open, the black wrought iron glinting maliciously in the dim light of the lava pit the king had seen fit to put in the place of the gardens Queen Katerina and Arete used to cherish so dearly, and Xander can see a small welcoming party gathered at the entrance. His stomach lurches in disgust when he's close enough to make out the silhouette of a very well known man at the head of the group.

“Welcome back, Lord Xander, sir! Words cannot express how relieved I am to see you have made it back to Windmire safe and sound.” Iago singsongs ever so sweetly and sweeps into a bow so low the tip of his long, frazzled hair nearly brushes against the paved floor of the castle's entryway. The guards flanking him fall to a knee. “I presume your long journey from the border to the capital must have been rather tiring.”

It had, though it was less due to the sheer length of the trip and more for the shameful state of the roads and the presence of countless gangs of bandits roaming around. Xander decides against revealing all of this to Iago, though, and opts instead to openly ignore the obsequious - far too much for even being near believable - sorcerer and hands Peri the reins of his horse.

“Take him to the stables and make sure all of our mounts are properly groomed and fed. After that, consider yourselves,” he gestures to Laslow, “free for the day. Settle down and rest as much as you need. We will probably leave again quite shortly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Iago straightening up and narrowing his eye, affronted at being so blatantly ignored, and it takes all of Xander's self control not to smirk. Peri immediately snatches Alec's reins and looks far too happy for her own good for being given horse-grooming duty.

“Yay! Don't you worry, milord, Alec is going to be all refreshed and clean like a foal! Come on, Laslow, let's go!”

Xander watches, quite amused despite himself, as Laslow is single-handedly struggled away by the deceptively frail looking woman, all the while complaining that he had other plans for the night than spending his whole time combing fur and brushing hooves, but for all he complains and pouts Xander can tell he's not really putting all his efforts into escaping Peri's hold. The mercenary swordsman allows her to drag him away, like a well-practiced routine, and by the moment they disappear behind a corner on their way towards the royal stables and their voices fade into the ever present breeze of Windmire Xander already misses them.

Iago clears his throat rather pointedly and closes the distance between them in a couple of steps.

“Allow me to escort you to the castle, milord,” he says, and though he clearly tries to keep down the bitterness it's rather obvious he's still fuming. “Your father will be delighted to know of your return. He's been asking of you with such insistence.”

Iago coldly dismisses the two generals and the guards with a flick of his wiry hand, and promptly steps aside to allow Xander to lead the way to the castle, not without yet another deep bow. Like the first time, Xander ignores the lowly grovelling.

“I must say, Iago, I was surprised to receive such a urgent missive demanding my immediate presence in Windmire. Surely no ill has befallen our king while he was entrusted in your care?”

He fully relishes in the flash of utter panic that twists the sorcerer's pointy face. The man goes even paler than he normally is, to the point he almost glows in the dim lights lining the stone path, and then scrambles into a much more shallow bow.

“Of- of course not, Your Highness. I would never allow any sickness or injury to threaten our glorious king's safety. Quite the contrary, you can rest assured your father has never looked healthier and stronger than now. You will soon be able to assess that much for yourself.”

As they walk, Xander leading with his long and brisk stride despite the long journey and Iago struggling to keep pace with him, Xander doesn't miss the way Iago wrings his hands together, as he always does when he's terrified for wronging the king. He doesn't seem to be lying, however.

Xander nods and allows Iago to order the guards stationed to the heavy ebony double doors to open. A futile effort, since the two men had already pushed the doorway open as soon as they saw Xander approaching.

“I already ordered a hot bath to be prepared for you the moment I received word you were in Windmire, milord. The maids are tending to it as we speak.”

Xander only hums in acknowledgment as they climb the vast stairways towards the southern tower, where the royal private quarters are located. It's hasn't been that long since Camilla, Leo and Elise were granted permission to move there as well; until Elise turned eight and thus was deemed to be fit to be introduced as a princess of Nohr in her own right, Xander was the only member of the royal family to be allowed to live in the royal quarters, a mere few yards from the King's very own room. All his other siblings - and even Azura, for the short time she lived in Krakenburg - used to live in the eastern tower, well far away from the one legitimate son of Garon and heir to the throne. Another way to keep them separated and to stoke up the fires of jealousy and hatred among the concubines, until Garon was satisfied with the three surviving children and stepped in to end the clash among his illegitimate lovers for good.

Xander can only be thankful Elise was too young to remember much of what happened, back then. The haunted looks he still occasionally catches lingering on Camilla's and Leo's faces are harrowing enough.

He fails to realize he and his overly zealous escort have finally reached the prince's quarters and that said escort has been talking nearly non-stop the whole time until Iago clears his throat and opens the door, bowing deeply and with a smile he probably deems flattering but Xander finds repugnant and oily.

“Your father can't wait to finally see you. He sends word to reach him to the Northern hall as soon as possible, so that you may dine together, as father and son.”

 _That_ manages to catch his attention. “I see. Are my brother and sisters out of Windmire as well?”

With the skirmish on the borders growing more and more intense and Prince Ryoma getting more heavily and personally involved with the fight, Xander hasn't been able to get in touch with Camilla and Leo for months, much to his chagrin. He only knows both are often sent throughout the country to help with Hoshido's lighter attacks, and something about a rebellion brewing against the Crown.

Iago nods. “Why, yes, most unfortunately. With this accursed war going on and those wretched rebels fanning over the fire, lady Camilla and lord Leo are always so busy they couldn’t make it to Windmire in time to greet your return. As for lady Elise, she's spending an awfully large amount of time at the Northern Fortress as of late, but His Majesty has openly allowed her to do so as long as she does not neglect her royal duties and studies. Alas, her magical prowess seems to even have improved quite significantly as of late.”

He says that as though it hurts him tremendously to be admitting it out loud, and Xander has to summon forth every drop of self control he has to keep a straight face. He merely hums again and turns his attention to the open entryway to his quarters. 

Finally, Xander steps into the room; a couple of maids are standing, frigid and stone faced, by his bed, hands folded rigidly over their laps and heads slightly bowed in meek obedience. A gold tray with a bottle of red wine and two silver goblets has been placed over the wide, round table sitting by the large window. They clearly have just finished polishing every inch of his quarters so that it was perfectly fit for his arrival.

“Thank you,” he addresses them quietly, “you may go.”

The two young girls - they can't be older than twenty - bow and quickly retreat out of the room. Iago follows them with his eyes, frowning in displeasure, until they turn a corner and disappear.

“If I may, milord, I will send-”

“That's enough, Iago. I'm perfectly able to take it from here on my own,” Xander cuts him off curtly. He can't quite keep down how the overbearing - and overbearingly unpleasant - presence of the sorcerer is quickly grating on his nerves. Perhaps it's the fact that he's been away from Krakenburg for nearly a year, or perhaps it's the fact that he would rather be anywhere else _but_ in Krakenburg at the moment, he doesn't know it himself. He only knows he wants to get this inconvenience out of his way as soon as he can feasibly get. It's not quite in his authority to openly defy such an urgent request of his father and king, but that doesn't mean he's willing to bear Iago's endless bugging and fake coddling a second longer than he is strictly required to. “Please report to Father I'll be there very shortly.”

Iago looks thunderstruck for a moment, unable to process how the prince could be so rude to him, then his mouth curls into a vicious smile that seems to be wishing Xander an extremely painful death and sweeps into the umpteenth bow. If she were here, Elise would probably wonder out loud, at this point, whether Iago's back was in any pain from all the grovelling he was making a show of.

“ _Of course,_ milord,” he drawls slowly and full of barely hidden spite. “I will relay immediately. With your permission.”

Still bowing, the sorcerer finally scoots back until the door slams shut on him, leaving Xander finally alone with his thoughts.

The prince takes a moment to appreciate the room he hasn't inhabited for an year, eyes roaming over the pristine king-sized, four-poster bed, so different from the bedroll he has grown used to, then to the table by the window. Dark curtains, deep purple and gold to match the carpets, keep the majestic view over Windmire out of the room. A piano lies, abandoned and forgotten for longer than a decade, in the corner. As he caresses the finely lacquered case, he wonders if he can even remember where the keys are. Katerina would probably reprimand him harshly were she to know he had failed to keep his practicing schedule.

He sighs and shakes his head; he must be truly tired if he's wasting time dallying about and getting lost in useless thoughts, especially when Father is waiting for him, and he is simply all too aware that Garon is far from being a patient man. It's never, under any circumstance, a good idea to make Garon wait.

So he strips off the armor, wincing when the familiar weight is lifted off and he finds himself truly naked, more vulnerable and exposed now in the safety of his quarters - of _home_ \- than he ever feels on the front line. At the very least, the enemy's intentions are more often than not very clear on the battlefield, with their war cries and swinging swords.

He drops the armor off and places it in the corner, making a mental note to have it ironed out by the following morning, and quickly steps into the en-suite, where a tub full of steaming water is waiting for him, a luxury he hasn't had a taste of since he was assigned on the border. And yet, instead of fully savoring the warmth and the vast array of scented oils the maids have provided, he bathes quickly and unceremoniously scrubs off the exhaustion and dirt from the long journey. In a matter of minutes he's already fully dressed again, the fresh and light silks and linens feeling off and far too light on his skin despite the many layers - shirt, vest, coat - he keeps piling on. He cringes at his reflection in the full-length mirror as he ties the knot of his cravat at the nape of his neck, and for a fleeting moment the Crown Prince fails to recognize himself without the ever present armor and royal insignia. As far as he's concerned, having a one on one meeting with Garon is fully equivalent to head out into a decisive battle with only a few men to fend off a whole army.

He hurriedly places his circlet back on and straps Siegfried at his hip before finally setting out. The added weight, the ever present sense of imbalancement deriving from Siegfried's massive weight and might, always pulling him to a side, dragging him down, is now somewhat comforting.

The Northern Hall, where Garon is waiting for him, is one of darkest and vastest halls Krakenburg has to offer. Never fully lit by the sun's rays under no circumstances, and even less during winter-time, when the already poor light is further reduced and Nohr is left ambling about in the dark for months on end, the previous kings and queens had been quick to abandon it, treating it almost as a fancy dungeon, opting instead to focus the entire of Krakenburg's courtly activities in the few parts of the building that actually receives the sun's blessing, if only for a few fleeting hours. It is strange for Father to be waiting for him in such a gloomy atmosphere.

Then again, it's been a while since Father deigned himself to step into the light; years, in fact, since the last time the King has made a public appearance for the yearly festival in Windmire, always delegating the job to represent him in the eye of the public to his children. Not that Xander ever complained: although the people's growing resentment towards the royal family was blatant, Elise never failed to enjoy and relish in the festivities, even as they grew sparser and poorer with every passing year, and it would always be a source of joy for her older siblings, a breath of fresh air, just enough for them to keep themself afloat once they returned into the court's ever tightening chokehold. Even now, as he hurries past from hallway to hallway in the dark castle, feeling suspiciously as though he is marching towards his impending demise, the mere memory of Elise laughing and jumping around, excited and lively beyond belief, is enough to shoo away the gloom that seems to be filling the stale air like a deadly miasma, the stench of death that drifts from every spot a man or woman or child has met their end, and Xander swears he can still see the blood staining the walls and carpets when he passes.

And of course, there is _that other_ issue…

His short lived smile is long gone by the time he reaches his destination, replaced by his usual frown. Even beyond the heavy mahogany doors, Xander feels Garon's malicious presence radiate in powerful waves through the solid wood and stone, each slamming hard into him like a punch in the gut. His steps grow slow as he approaches and nods to the two guards standing outside, his hands grow clammy and cold beneath the purple and gold silken gloves, and his fist trembles - foolishly, shamefully, he has nothing to fear, all of his siblings are well away, far from Father's immediate grasp should Xander act foolishly enough to incur in his anger, they're safe and sound, he has _nothing to fear, not this time_ \- as he lifts it and hits it three times, slow and firm, against the door.

The pause, eternal and all too short at the same time, that ensues is hell on his nerves, until-

“Enter.”

Xander's heart hammers madly against his ribcage; he slowly, but firmly, pushes the creaking door open and slides in, letting it close with a slam behind him. He tries not to dwell on the foul, damp smell.

The room is, understandably, large, even more so considering the only piece of furniture is the long dining table sitting proudly in the middle of it, right under a vast, dragon-shaped chandelier. The walls, previously empty if not for a few paintings of the royals of the past, are now completely covered in grotesque pictures of misshapen dragons, black and white spires intertwining every so often, and dozens and dozens - perhaps hundreds, alone or in oddly shaped clusters - of crimson eyes.

But that is of no importance whatsoever, because there, by the window, Father is standing. His back is turned on Xander, and he seems to be in deep contemplation as he keeps the heavy purple curtain open and stares at the horizon, towards the mountains. He doesn't turn around even when Xander approaches, his boots echoing loudly against the darkened stone.

“Greetings, Father,” Xander greets him as he bends to one knee and lets his eyes flutter close, as it is customary to salute the glorious king of Nohr. “I have come as soon as I received word you wished to see me.”

Garon hums, doesn't even turn to acknowledge his eldest son. Xander waits, all his nerves tense in anticipation.

Then, a slow, deliberate movement, the flutter of a long cape, the metallic creak of the King's regalia against the bare floor.

“You may rise, Xander, my son.”

Xander feels like he's finally allowed to breathe again; he immediately lifts himself up to a standing position. Garon nods and moves to the vast table, taking up the seat at the nearest end. He gestures at the lone chair at the opposite side.

“Take a seat.”

Xander instantly obeys, never daring to avert his attention from the older man. A thousand questions are whirling in his head, wrestling with each other to earn the right of being voiced first.

Whether Xander would have the courage to do so, whether he would _dare_ to doubt the king's intentions simply by exposing his doubts, that is a whole another matter.

 _By law of our illustrious ancestors, the world of the ruler of Nohr is absolute_ , Xander remembers Garon telling him once, when he was barely older than ten and made to assist to the execution of a concubine and her offspring, under the grievous charge of insubordination to the King's orders. A suggestion that was kindly provided by Camilla's mother and had immediately met the King's approval.

Garon reaches out and picks up a silver bell from the table. He rings it three times, with such force the usually pleasant soft chime sounds like a shrill scream in the dark, and instantly another door opens, letting a long line of waiters in, each carrying two large cloches, except the last two that were instead tasked with the beverages. With no need for any further order, the waiters set the food and fill the silver plates and pour the wine, only to disappear again as soon as they finish their task, probably already preparing themselves to rush back in as soon as Garon's bell rang again.

With a triumphant smirk, Garon grabs his goblet, swirling it lightly to better appreciate the rich scent of the alcoholic drink, and raises it at Xander's address.

“To your return and our impending victory.” he rasps and takes a huge sip. Xander hastily mirrors the gesture, though he only allows the heavy wine to barely graze and wet his lips before placing the goblet down again. Aside fron the countless poisonings Krakenburg had been the stage of in the past, both he and Camilla had agreed that it would be foolish to nearly suicidal levels to assume any form of alcohol when in the King's presence. A single word out of line could very well mean disaster, and neither is foolish enough to tempt death so openly.

Garon sets his goblet back and sits more comfortably. He pierces his son with his eyes, a malicious, knowing smirk curling his parched lips up.

“So, Xander, my son. At long last, you're here. You should know I don't enjoy being kept waiting.”

Xander tenses up. His hands curl into fists under the table, and he hurries to bend his head down. “My humble apologies, Father. I've rushed back to Windmire the moment I received your missive requiring my presence with such urgence.”

“Hmm.” Garon hums as his attention shifts to the hot venison in his plate. “I have been trying to call you back to Windmire for months, my son, and each and every time you failed to answer to my call. I will not deny I am very disappointed in you, Xander. I am expecting you to show more obedience from now on, son.”

The Crown Prince feels his blood run cold as he sits ramrod straight, ears strained to catch the hiss of the heavy axe cutting through the air…

“My apologies, Father, it will not happen again. The clashes on the border have grown in both intensity and frequency ever since Hoshido's High Prince has taken to fight on the front line. I deemed necessary to stay and aid our forces against such a formidable opponent.”

“Yes, I know all about your prowess on the border,” Garon coolly dismisses Xander's apology, as though bored and not impressed in the least. “You've done well against the son of Sumeragi and that wretched Mikoto. As a matter of fact, perhaps even _too_ well. So tell me, Xander, why is that?”

Again that cruel, mocking smirk. Xander feels his throat go dry and hastily reaches for a sip of wine, just enough to allow him to keep his wits about him and fight off the rising panic. His own, untouched venison is rapidly cooling.

“I'm afraid I do not understand, Father. My only priority is to ensure a swift end to this wretched war before it completely drains Nohr's resources-”

Garon raises a hand to stop him, and the son instantly falls quiet.

“Such admirable dedication to our _noble_ cause, Xander. Remarkable indeed,” he chuckles, wheezing and coughing as he does so. He emphasizes the word 'noble’ with such indecent shamelessness Xander feels an uncomfortable warmth burn at the base of his neck. There is nothing noble in this conflict Nohr has waged on Hoshido, they all know it, they all can see it. And yet, despite the many pieces of evidence proving otherwise, Xander can only cling desperately to the hope that, deep down, Father has a plan, for Nohr and Hoshido both, that this war has a meaning, a purpose worth to fight for, that is not just a whim of a megalomaniac fool.

He hopes and believes and prays, but the deserted streets of Windmire come to mind, the two starving children - they have to be a few years younger than Elise, at most - haunt his thoughts.

“My only wish is to serve Nohr's cause.” He says through clenched teeth, not daring to meet the king's eye lest he did something foolish. “As my duty as Crown Prince requires. I will do what I must to ensure the survival of my country and family.”

Garon's smirk widens as he takes another large gulp of wine, as though amused to no end by something.

“Yes, my son, you are most correct. And yet I have to wonder why you, my son and living embodiment of all that is fair and right in Nohr, would rather spend your time in the company of a wicked Hoshidan than your own father's, your own flesh and bone, to the point you ignored all my previous summonings to instead run to her at every chance you get, not unlike a faithful little dog.”

“I have personally taken over her training,” Xander replies after a beat of silence, after he has made sure his voice would not waver and betray him on the spot, carefully pondering and choosing his words. He's treading on thin ice, extremely thin, and both father and son know it perfectly well. “She is quite gifted, a rare talent we haven't seen in quite some time. However, that talent will only go to waste if we don't nurture it properly. If we wish to harvest her skill to our advantage in the war against Hoshido, she needs to be regularly faced with a worthy challenge.”

Garon scoffs, a malicious glint in his otherwise dull, sunken eyes. “And you think our old dear Gunter doesn't fit the bill, don't you? It's a task you personally - you, future King of Nohr and first General of our royal army - have to take?”

Xander scowls at the unveiled derision and scepticism. For the first time he raises his head defiantly and holds his father's gaze.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Sir Gunter has been a knight of admirable skill in his youth, but I must admit he's quite past his prime. Besides, the old man's heart has grown fond of the little princess, to the point I'm not sure he'd manage to keep a training schedule strict enough to allow her to improve at the required rate. On the contrary, he might even go as far as to actively sabotage her growth, in the attempt to keep her safe within the fortress.”

“And I suppose _you_ would make for a much more impartial tutor for the your dear _little princess_ , wouldn't you.”

The way the king rolls his tongue over the pet name, slow, sordid, almost indecent, makes Xander's skin crawl in disgust.

“Yes,” he eventually manages out, “that is my belief.”

There's another moment of utter silence in which the two men simply stare at each other, wary and suspicious, studying and weighing the other's every little movement or gesture, trying to catch even the smallest misstep in their facade, just enough to unravel it all. Xander's heart is beating so hard he's quite impressed Father can't hear it all the way from the other side of the room.

Unbidden, flashes of his last visit to the Northern Fortress float at the forefront of his mind, treacherous and enticing as they linger on Corrin's trim figure running up to him with unbridled joy and enthusiasm, bare feet flashing underneath the hem of her favorite blue sundress, ruby eyes sparkling of genuine affection as her slim and yet strong arms encircle his waist, pull him close, so close it's almost hard to breathe. He tries to push it away, to forget how perfectly she seemed to fit in his arms as he rested his chin on the crown of her head, tries to forget the lingering scent of lilies and cherries filling his nose.

Then, Garon laughs. It's not an amused, somewhat sarcastic chuckle, this time: it seems like an irresistible fit of laughter has taken over the usually stern and cruel king as his booming voice bounces off the walls, fills the empty room as though several dozens of men are laughing alongside him. For a truly mad moment, Xander could swear he sees the multi-eyed dragons painted on the walls move and laugh as well. A trick of the feeble candlelight, for sure.

“Oh, Xander,” Garon eventually comes down his fit, and Xander instantly notices the reddened blotches on his skin, making it look even frailer and sick than it already is. “So many lies, son. You should be aware I know all. I know how you behave when in her presence, I've seen the look on your face when you talk about her. You… you are planning to abandon me… to _betray_ me!”

Garon's gaze darkens, turns accusatory, all the while his mouth pulls open over yellowed, bared teeth and his fist clenches against the empty goblet in his hand, so tight that the silver has no chance and caves in under the pressure of the King's claws.

“...Father…?”

For a moment, Garon does not respond, too far gone in his outrage. Xander's hand inches towards Siegfried's hilt as he readies himself to spring up to his feet and unsheath the legendary sword should the need arise. Siegfried hums like a purring cat under his grasp, tantalizing and inviting.

But the need does not arise, and just as quick as it comes, the shadow looming over the king fades, leaving Garon looking more tired than ever as he collapses back against his high-backed chair.

“Do not… betray me, Xander, my beloved son. I have poured all my hopes in you, you are the only thing I have left of Katerina…”

Garon lifts a hand, beckons for Xander to reach for him. Xander moves and is running towards him before he can even think about it. He falls to a knee in front of the King, cradles the proffered gauntleted hand in his gloved one.

“Of course, I will never betray you, Father. My topmost priority is Nohr's and our family's well-being. Nothing else matters.”

Garon's hand clutches his own, the claws of his gauntlet digging painfully in Xander's flesh. A heavy cough rattles the king's massive figure, leaving Xander quite baffled.

“You should probably get some well deserved rest, Father. I shall take care of the business in Krakenburg until your health gets better.”

“Tomorrow,” Garon talks as though he hasn't even heard him, his voice already stronger and much steadier. “Krakenburg will host another ball. I want you to attend, and start looking for a possible wife among the attendees.”

That's enough to shock the Crown Prince out of his concerns for his father’s degenerating health. “What? But, Father-”

“No objections. You _will_ partecipate this time, it's an order.”

“My duty on the border will prevent me from a proper courting. I would rather wait until the war is over to-”

“Nonsense!!” Garon thunders and promptly stands up, all signs of weakness and disease entirely forgotten. With his already immense form, he all but towers over his still bowed son, the light casting horrible shadows on his ancient visage, melting and blurring the skin as his incensed eyes burn holes into his son. “A heir to the throne is required to maintain stability within our family. You can choose whether you accept your duty as Crown Prince or you would rather have Elise be married and tasked with the honor to continue our line, but the core of the matter remains.”

Xander pales harshly at the remark, the thought of selling Elise, barely fourteen, to the best bidder makes his stomach churn in horror. Tremors rattle his whole frame as he pictures his youngest sister dragged off and offered as a one-way ticket into the royal family to one of the many unscrupulous cohorts Father has surrounded himself with.

He stands again. He has long overtaken his father in sheer height, by a slim margin, but that doesn't do anything to quell the feeling of being turned back into the shy, scared boy he once was. That's how he feels as Garon stares at him expectantly, and both know the king has already won. He bows again.

“Of course, Father. Your wish is my command.”

Garon grins and waves his hand dismissively.

“Good, son, I knew you would end up seeing reason. You will do what you must, won't you?”

Xander peers up at his father, takes in the sickening smirk, the manic glint in his eye, and wonders where they've gone wrong, when did things change, why-

But it's useless, and he has no time to waste pondering over things that are long beyond his control, not if he wants to keep his family safe.

He will do what he musts, for them, for Nohr. No matter the cost on himself.

“Of course.”

* * *

The Crown Prince wakes up with a startle. For a moment, his senses are hazed, confused, and he fails to comprehend why he's back in his tent, or why he seems to have fallen asleep over the empty crates he has taken to use as tables and chairs while setting on camp, or why a light blanket he recognizes as Laslow's has been draped over his shoulders while he slept.

He straightens up, swiping at the cold sweat beaded across his forehead and dampening his hair, and only then his mind starts working again as he remembers Corrin's betrayal, Valla, Anankos, _Father_...

It was all a dream, then. Or rather, a memory, dating back to only a few months before Corrin was finally allowed out of the Fortress, with all the ensuing, life changing consequences that entailed. Xander had failed, on that occasion, to pick a worthy wife out of the many noble women who had been fawning at the crown he was wearing, and no more word of that agreement had been spoken ever since. Corrin's fateful choice had changed everything, irremediably.

With a soft groan he sweeps his palm over his face and slowly stands up, catching Laslow's blanket before it can fully slide off his shoulders and fall to the ground. The candle, he now notices, has been long blown out, probably by Laslow himself when he came in to check on him, and the soft glow filling the tent is now coming from the timid sunlight outside. It must be early in the morning.

With a sigh, he casts a last glance to the maimed crown sitting on the upturned crate, near the many maps of Nohr that are now scattered in utter dishevelment - some had even fluttered down to the ground - after he shamefully slept on them, won by sheer exhaustion. Ever since he found it on the floor of the abandoned Vallite throne room, Xander has taken to carry it on himself wherever he goes. Never to wear it, only to carry it, to bear its burden alone, until the time is right.

He reaches for it and takes it, hiding it into one of the many pockets of his coat. Only Camilla, to this moment, knows of the plan brewing in his head, and although he's certain she doesn't approve, he's still grateful she isn't openly opposing him and making it unnecessarily harder. The same can't quite be said about Leo, who doesn't know but has very clear - and very correct - suspicion, if the latest row the two brothers had just the night before is any indication of it. But it's fine, the eldest son tells himself with a rueful smile, for in the end, Leo's bright mind will understand. As for Elise… she still refuses to speak with him if not in cold monosyllables whenever he actively poses her a question. She won't miss him.

That leaves…

It is said that no one really knows how dearly they cherish and treasure something until it's stolen away from them. The Crown Prince can confirm that it is, without a doubt, true.

The mere _thought_ of Corrin, with her bright smile and bare feet padding everywhere, ever curious and adventurous, feels like he's being stabbed with a white-hot sword, the blade slowly inching in and out, agonizing and ruthless. He still remembers her scent, her voice as she calls for him - no honorifics, no curtsies, only his name as though it was all she cared about - her laughter.

He still remembers her scream, her pleads to stop, not to leave, and by the gods, it had taken all he had not to turn around right there and then when she yelled his name as though her life depended on him. He still remembers, all too clearly, all too well, and forever will. He's ready to take it all, her scorn, her hatred, her contempt, as long as he knows she's safe, surrounded by the warm and peaceful family she has been dreaming of, even if it will not include him, even if he will turn into a faded shadow, a mere memory to be set aside as soon as something better comes up.

 _”You've never quite looked at her the way you looked at me or Elise,”_ Camilla had said, just a few nights ago, before they even left Valla and Xander had first revealed her his plan. The look on her face, so beautiful and yet maimed beyond repair, had been uncharacteristically somber, perhaps even sad. Xander had refused to acknowledge it, but now in the wee hours of the morning, the last one before they reach Cheve and fate's plans will carry him wherever they will, he can admit it to himself, for the first and last time.

To admit that he's in love with Princess Corrin of Valla and Hoshido.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super cringy ending but as always I never, ever know how to wrap up a chapter. Too bad, I almost liked it. But otoh we really need to get the massive Pining going, am I right?
> 
> For the sake of clarity, again, the entire first part is a flashback-dream. Also, a few days have passed since they made it back from the Canyon. Just to clear up things.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed and don't hesitate to ask question if you have doubts or to offer criticism of any kind. As long as you are polite about it, I take all forms of critiques lmao


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter was rough. You can probably tell I had a few problems with it. The second half was entirely rewritten on a whim, the previous draft was just so laughably bad it was unbearable. I'm still not entirely sold on it, but I suppose this is the best I can get out of this part of the story, so I'll just leave this here.
> 
> Hope you enjoy nonetheless!

“Corrin?”

Someone calls for her from far, far away. Corrin frowns at the disturbance and burrows deeper into the bundle of delicious warmth wrapped around her body.

“Corrin!” The voice calls again, a little louder and perhaps a tiny bit amused. It's a beautiful voice, delicate and silky, it reminds her of those gorgeous windchimes she has seen the people in Hoshido hang out of their homes. From what she gathered, it seems to be some kind of ritual, like a lucky charm. The name itself escapes her at the moment, she will have to ask Sakura later.

“Corrin!” The voice - Azura's voice, she's now awake enough to recognize - calls a third time, and this time it's followed by a delicate, but firm hand that grabs Corrin's shoulder through the covers and shakes. “It's time to wake up.”

Someone snickers quietly - Silas? - only to grunt in pain when something slams into him. Probably Jakob's doing.

“Hmm,” Corrin grumbles weakly, never opening her eyes. The futon she's been given is simply too comfortable; had they told her, months ago, that sleeping almost directly on the floor with no mattress or anything was so pleasing, she would have laughed in their face. “Just five more minutes…”

She hears Azura huff, half frustrated and half amused. “They weren't joking when they said you are nigh impossible to drag out of bed.”

“Here, allow me to help. This method always works.”

And indeed, in an instant the covers are flicked away in a single, fluid movement, their warmth suddenly gone and thus allowing an ice-cold palm to cup the side of Corrin's now exposed neck. Her eyes fly open instantly.

“Gyaah! Okay, okay, I'm awake!!”

Her whole body still spasms and goosebumps scatter all over her neck and arms as she pulls herself to a sitting position. She throws a half-hearted glare at Felicia, and the maid lets her hand drop with a little, innocent shrug. Corrin doesn't miss the vaguely triumphant grin on her face.

Azura, Silas and Kaze laugh. Even Jakob has to fight off the urge to burst laughing and struggles to keep a straight face as he shakes his head, in disappointment.

“I'm sorry, Corrin,” Azura has the grace to apologize, although the mirth glinting in her golden eyes is undeniable. “You left us no choice.”

With a faux huff, Corrin hums and slides out the futon, just as Jakob pushes a steaming cup of freshly brewed tea in her hands. She distractedly takes a sip, frowning slightly when the rich but fresh taste of Hoshido's finest green tea leaves hits and scalds the tip of her tongue, but nevertheless she keeps drinking. She likes the bitter aftertaste, a lot better than Nohr's sweeter teas.

“What time is it?”

As response, Felicia crosses the room and delicately pushes the window open. Hoshido's ever present sun floods the room like a waterfall of gold. At first sight, Corrin would be led to think it is way past mid-morning, perhaps even noon, but over the past week she was quick to learn the sun in Hoshido is simply that strong, at nearly any hour. The lack of a proper nighttime makes it perhaps a little hard for her to fall asleep, but on every other aspect Corrin definitely prefers it over Nohr's neverending dusk. 

“A little past eight,” it's Azura theone who answers her. “We even let you sleep longer than you were supposed to. We have a lot to do today.”

Corrin groans inwardly. Tomorrow there is Ryoma's coronation, right. Ever since they reached Hoshido's capital, a couple of days ago, and regent Yukimura had returned the position to the rightful heir to the throne, Castle Shirasagi and the whole of Hoshido have been in a state of agitation, of the good kind this time, bustling with activity in preparation to the solemn coronation ceremony.

From the looks of it, it's shaping up to be a wonderful show, full of dances and flowers and everything Corrin has been dreaming of for her whole life and never really saw during her years in the Fortress. She would be excited about it, were it not for…

“First thing first, I'd say to review the steps of the ceremonial dance in Mikoto's memory. You have grasped the sequence, but you're still too stiff while performing. We'll need to work on that, make you feel more… water-like, so to speak.”

Easy for Azura to say, she oozes grace and elegance from every pore. She's also an unexpectedly strict teacher, however, as Corrin had soon found out - at her own expenses.

Corrin makes a face as she drains the last of her tea, only for Jakob to snatch the empty cup the moment she brings it back down and scurry off the room with the whole set to have it washed. “Can I-”

“No, you can't skip it, we've already talked about this. As Mikoto's biological daughter and officially acknowledged princess of Hoshido, you're required to participate into the dance.” Azura cuts her off rather coldly, though after a moment her eyes soften in sympathy. “I know it's not easy on you, but it's an important tradition we can't afford to ignore. We belong here, and you and I both must play our part.”

Azura instantly knows she's used the wrong wording when she sees Corrin flinch and recoil visibly, as though something invisible had just burned her. However, it doesn't last longer than a moment, and Azura barely has the time to blink once that Corrin is back to her smiling self again and is rising up to her feet, the long, silken white robe she has taken to use as nightwear now falling down to her bare ankles. Still, there's something stiff in her posture and gait as Corrin leisurely pads to the now open window and leans against the sill, eyes glazed and unseeing as they roam absently towards the west.

Azura glances to Felicia, who returns her sad look in full. The maid previously told her - and she had also seen it for herself on many a occasion - that Corrin has been staring longingly towards where the turquoise Hoshidan skies melt into deeper hues of blue and purple, in the far away west, every night since they made it back to Castle Shirasagi. She has yet to openly mention the cause of her malaise, but Azura is quite certain everyone has already connected the dots and deduced it, be it from her occasional bouts of detached moodiness that sometimes take over her, sudden and unpredictable, or the blatantly forced smiles that have been growing more and more frequent with every passing day leading to Ryoma's coronation.

More than once Azura has wondered whether she should broach the topic with Corrin. The younger Vallite princess had not spoken a word on it since the day the joined army had so brutally split at the Bottomless Canyon, and Azura knows all too well what it means to feel alone and abandoned in a foreign environment, with nobody to talk to as to find some solace and peace of mind. She never wished Corrin to go through the same feeling of loneliness and abandonment. After all, they're family, _actual_ family - Azura still can't quite believe it to this day, as used as she has grown to feel alone and so thoroughly cut off from the world surrounding her - and she's pretty sure she should try to do something to ease Corrin's burden, or at least say something to comfort her.

But every time she tries to gather the courage to do so, the sight of Corrin's meandering thoughts drains her of all strength. How can she even hope to find something appropriate to say, when until not long ago Azura herself was in the same exact situation, gazing to an empty home through every drop of water she could find and never being able to truly reach for it. It would be simply too hypocritical to be bearable.

And to top all of that, Ryoma's orders are clear: Nohr and its royal family are not to be mentioned under any circumstance, _especially_ in front of Corrin. Azura remembers feeling rather affronted when Kagero herself was sent to relay her the gag order - this was starting to feel suspiciously like Valla's curse, all over again - and wanting to protest, but when she got sight of him hurrying through Castle Shirasagi’s brightly lit halls, Ryoma's tired and worried expression had knocked the fight out of her. Surely there is a reason the soon-to-be king of a supposedly peaceful nation looks so grim and concerned. Those hushed rumors regarding clashes with Nohrian forces on the border and a massive rebellion brewing in Cheve come to mind.

She makes a mental note to ask Hinoka or Takumi for more details on the matter once the celebrations are over with. Surely they must know what's going on, or at least more than she does.

“Corrin…” she begins, not really knowing what she is going to say in the first place. Luckily for her, Kaze and Silas, who have been standing quiet in the corner until now, watching over their liege with a grim expression, decide to take matters in their own hands; from her seated position on the tatami mat by Corrin's futon, Azura watches as they make their way as to stand on either side of their beloved princess, protective and caring as they both place a hand on her shoulders, squeezing lightly in reassurance, telling her _we're here_ without the need for futile words.

Corrin starts just a little, as though jolted awake from a daydream, and then smiles gratefully at her ever so faithful retainers. Her shoulders fall and some of the stiffness melts away. She turns around to face Azura again. Sadness still veils her eyes, but at least she seems to have gained part of her spirit back.

“Yes, you're right, we belong here.” Corrin says, instantly cringing when her voice comes out a tad too high-pitched, too flippant. Azura notices, obviously, but decides against pointing it out. “So, what is the program for today? Dancing and…?”

Azura doesn't reply immediately; she stays quiet, regarding Corrin for a long moment with a solemn, almost sad, expression that has Corrin wonder in panic if the Vallite princess can read her thoughts, if she knows exactly what she's thinking about. It feels as though Azura is mulling over something, something important.

“Azura?” She calls, a strange feeling rising up from her chest and coiling tight around her throat, something akin to fear, fear of being kept in the dark. But surely Azura wouldn't do that, not after everything they had accomplished together. “Are… are you alright?”

It's Azura's turn to be startled out of her rapidly swirling thoughts. It appears to be much harder habit to break than she would have thought at first.

“Oh, yes, yes of course. I was thinking to review the dance and the speech,” here Corrin groans again, but she doesn't even try to protest this time. She knows it's unavoidable. “And then, if we have time… perhaps we could even go out for a while. Take a look at the town.”

Corrin's mouth falls open, not quite believing her ears. Since their appearance at the border, the whole country has been in a feast, each and every village or town they came across throwing massive festivals and parties to honor the long lost royal family and celebrate their victorious return, but it was still nothing when compared to Castle Shirasagi: the whole town was now an explosion of colors and flowers and fuurin, and at every corner Corrin could see the roads full of people running about, completely absorbed in their work to make the capital as beautiful as it can be for the upcoming coronation of the heir to the throne.

Since their arrival in Castle Shirasagi, Corrin had been forced to stay in the castle itself, as her little knowledge of the town prevents her from roaming about on her own, and every single one of her siblings and retainers are incredibly busy with their own part of the ceremony - and then there is the godawful dance she had to learn ever so quickly, cutting down her already limited time she would rather to dedicate to exploration. By now, she had given up hope to give a good look at the town before the ceremony took place.

“Really?” She asks, uncertain whether she has heard right or if she's just having a very lucid dream, not daring to hope. Azura has been doing nothing but drilling the importance of this ceremony into her brain from the start, always reminding her that they could not afford any slip up. For her to agree to take some time off is rather strange. Suspicious, even.

Still, all those people in the streets, setting up booths and decorations, the scent of delicious food permeating the air… it's too much of a temptation for her, and she can't really deny she's getting antsy after being cooped up in the castle for so long. She's not used to stay in the same place too long any more.

Azura nods. "Yes. You did work relentlessly on your part for days on end, after all. I'm sure no one would object if we were to take a short breather. Perhaps Kaze could do us the honor of chaperoning us?"

Kaze bows respectfully. "It will be my honor and pleasure to guide and escort you throughout the town, Lady Azura."

"Hey, and what am I, chopped liver?" Silas pouts, although he immediately ruins the effect when Corrin meets his eye and he winks playfully at her, eliciting a short laugh from her. "I mean, I wouldn't mind to take a look at a proper, honest-to-the-gods festival, for once. It's been ages since there had been one in N-"

Silas cuts himself off just in time, but not before he gets two withering glares from Felicia and Kaze. He visibly stumbles and plasters an easy going smile on his face that anyone with eyes, Azura reasons with a sigh, would see through. "I mean, Hoshido's capital is renowned for its beauty. I would love to see it getting ready for a true feast. I don't think we'll have much time to do any sightseeing tomorrow."

Corrin's expression sobers ever so slightly at the unspoken mention of Nohr, a shadow dampening her excitement for the ceremony - guilt? Regret? Longing? She can't tell exactly herself - for the umpteenth time. She wonders, again, if an equally majestic feast is being held in Windmire in Xander's honor, perhaps in this very moment, if Krakenburg's vast halls are being opened to the public and filled to the brim with music and dancing and delicious food of all sorts. She tries to picture it, to imagine herself with the people she was taught to address as family, dressing up in exquisite gowns with Camilla and Elise, chuckling as Leo fends off suitor after suitor and calls them cheeky leeches, watching with pride and tearing up as Xander takes the crown and solemnly vows to rebuild Nohr from the ground up, to make it a glorious and peaceful country worthy to be called home.

She can only dream, of course, as she'll never get to see it, never get to see _them_ again. In hindsight, she has come to the conclusion that she should have seen it coming; there is no tolerance for betrayal in Nohr, no matter how rightful that may turn out to be in the long run. She can call herself lucky Xander even let her go alive, and even more so that he allowed her retainers to live as well.

She smiles at whatever Silas is rambling about Hoshido's festival, though her heart isn't really in it.

"Yes, we really should have the day for ourselves." She says, almost absently. She hopes the Hoshidian's lively and energetic decorations will be vivid enough to blot out the lingering picture of Nohr at the back of her mind, at least for the time being. Azura is right: she _has_ to do this right, for her passed Mother and for the family that has given her a place to belong. It would be a really poor way to show her gratitude if she were to mess up Ryoma's big day just because she's a nostalgic fool.

_Come on, Corrin. Get yourself together and focus._

"Alright, then," she strains to get her voice stronger, unwavering, the way it had been as she had led their forces against Anankos's terrifying dragon form. She longs for the Yato: its familiar presence and weight has always been a source of comfort as it gave her a way to keep herself grounded and focused even when the situation was at its direst, but the sacred sword had been placed back in the shrine dedicated to Mikoto, after a complicated purifying ritual Sakura had performed right in front of the whole family's watchful eye. Corrin remembers feeling amazed by the sight of the usually shy and quite clumsy princess dancing so lightly on her feet, the ceremonial festal she had used for the occasion drawing elegant arches and circles in the air as it glinted and glowed with soothing, white magic. "Enough dawdling then, let's start immediately."

Azura chuckles and nods, rising to her feet in a fluid motion that has Corrin nearly pout in jealousy. That pesky dance would not be even remotely as much of a problem as it is if she had inherited at least a speck of Azura's innate class. It definitely doesn't help that Silas seems to agree with her on the matter whenever she comes back from a particularly grueling practice session with her cousin. Kaze always reprimands him for being so outrageously rude to his liege on those occasion, but Corrin simply can't find it in herself to stay mad with the ever brutally honest cavalier; there is simply no denying the truth.

"Perfect. Should I stay and help you with your new dress?"

Corrin thinks back to the brand new kimono dress she was given just the day before: a furisode, Oboro called it, glowing with pride as she unraveled her newest creation and slipped it over Corrin's frame with expert and determined hands, her fingers dancing deftly along the heavy silks and tying all the many pieces together in complicated knots that Corrin, despite all her best efforts, simply couldn't follow.

Corrin feels an uncomfortable heat splash across her cheeks and nods jerkily. Their ignorance of Hoshido's most basic customs and traditions, ranging from clothing to cuisine to art and literature, feels like yet another glaring sign of how little they belong here, another reminder that they're little more than misfits. Outcasts, belonging neither here nor there.

And she hates it, oh how she hates it. Hates that she has to rely on her Hoshidan family even for the smallest of things, just because she doesn't know the name of a particular item, lacks the practice to wrap her new kimono dresses around herself on her own. She wonders how Azura manages to wade through the cultural barrier swamp so easily every day, whereas not even a week in Corrin sometimes feels like she's drowning, submerged by the novelty of everything.

_"With time, it'll come easier, sister,"_ Ryoma had reassured her when, a little overwhelmed by the feast a village they had passed on their way had thrown in their honor, she had dared to express some of her newly born worries, _"We will guide and aid you at every step, worry not."_

They did, that goes beyond saying. Corrin will never be thankful enough for the hospitality and kindness the Hoshidans have shown to her and her retainers as they painstakingly took them under their wing and taught them all there is to know about the sunkissed country of the Dawn Dragon. And yet Corrin can't quite help but feel frustrated that it's taking so long.

"Can we get to it later, however?" She asks when Azura makes to shoo Silas and Kaze out of the room. "I… wouldn't want to ruin it by accident. Oboro would kill me in my sleep if I let something happen to it because I trip over the hem or step on it."

Azura throws her a pointed look, then her shoulders sag in defeat. "Fine, but remember we will have to do a general rehearsal by the end of the day. We need to see if it requires a last minute adjustment, and you will need to get used to move in it naturally. We can't-"

"-Slip up, yes, I know." Corrin finishes the sentence, only allowing the shallowest traces of irritation to bleed in her voice. She figures it's rather strange she's feeling severely more anxious at the thought of dancing in front of a massive crowd of strangers, dressed in unfamiliar garments and without a weapon on her, than she was when she had led the crusade against Anankos.

_But that's because fighting was all I was taught in the first place. It's not like I was ever allowed to attend any of Garon's parties at Krakenburg._

And, against all the odds, for the first time anger surges up at the memory of Nohr in the place of sorrow and despair, breaks through the sense of inadequacy that has been plaguing her mind since the first moment she's stepped foot in Hoshido. In the end, what does it matter? She would have felt just as out of her depth in Nohr as well, perhaps even more so. At least here she has Azura, her true family, to guide her through the motions.

She makes her own fate, after all.

Feeling reinvigorated all of a sudden, she grins brightly at her now utterly confused companions. "Alright then. Time to get started."

* * *

The sun is setting down behind the sharp mountaintops by the time Cheve appears in sight, the dying rays painting the everlasting glaciers of a beautiful vermillion that remind Camilla too acutely of Corrin's eyes - those beautiful, warm eyes, so kind and all too forgiving, too ready to see the best in everyone, even someone like Camilla herself - to be comfortable. For the umpteenth time, she wishes she could cradle her beloved little sister to her chest and whisper sweet nothings into her ear as she threads her fingers through Corrin's hair, like she used to do back in the Fortress and there was no war to worry about, no violent king to please.

The eldest princess of Nohr has never been quite as unwavering and straight forward like Xander, nor logic and pragmatic to the point of ruthlessness like Leo, and even less as cheerful and optimistic as Elise is. When night falls and unravels her merciful veil, covering all the ugly in this world from sight, Camilla wonders and wishes and longs, alone in the dark, for a time when everything was easier, when Corrin was her bubbly and loving self and _there_ , casting her pure and innocent radiance over their family, giving them a reason to stay afloat just by her presence alone.

Oh, she wishes, poor fool that she is, that she had never let go of Corrin, that she could have stopped Xander's ever so dedicated training in time, so that Corrin could stay, safe and sound, stashed away from prying eyes, Camilla's most cherished treasure.

A sardonic smile flashes through her chapped lips. Those blissful, peaceful times are over now, and war has finally barged into their little safe haven, trampling and thrashing and spoiling everything in its touch. There is no point in wishing for something that just isn't anymore, she had been quick to learn that lesson at Garon's court. The Corrin she had known and loved is gone, the child who didn't know any better has been replaced by a young woman in her own right. She doesn't need Camilla's love anymore.

Perhaps Niles has a point, when he calls Camilla pathetic.

The breeze bites her skin and flushes her cheeks as she flies upwind, but the shivers rattling her bones and eliciting goosebumps all over her body have little to do with the simple November cold, and far more with the rapidly approaching military town, with its ragged walls and battered flags bearing the emblem of the Chevois knightly order, billowing tiredly but nevertheless proudly from the guard towers.

She glances down: Xander is riding at the very front of the formation, spurring his steed at the maximum of his capacity over the uneven road, as though he's purposefully trying to detach himself from the rest of the troops. Several feet behind him, Leo follows suit, a little slower as per Xander's orders. Elise, as usual, is at the back of the formation, protected on every side.

Camilla's heart thunders in her throat, panic rising as her eyes follow closely Xander's rapidly advancing form, too fast, too alone, too exposed after a whole day of uninterrupted marching across mountain paths and no time to replenish their strength. She spurs Marzia on, speeding up until she's hovering above her older brother. It takes Xander less than a second to realize he's being closed in to.

"I told you to stay behind." He reproaches her over his shoulder as she lowers down on his left side, shooting her a disappointed glare.

Camilla shrugs and makes a show of flicking her hair out of her face as cheekily as she can possibly manage, all the while deploying her best court smile. Xander's scowl deepens, seeing through her facade with no effort at all.

"Poor dear Marzia desperately wanted to stretch her wings a little," she croons ever so sweetly, scratching heavily the side of the wyvern's humongous jaw, "I just didn't have the heart to deny her."

In all response, Xander snaps the reins and bolts ahead. Behind them, Leo yells something, immediately followed by Peri and Laslow shouting something back, but Camilla can't quite catch the exact wording, with the wind roaring in her face and her blood rushing in her ears. Her smile drops and she arches an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Rude."

Taking the quite unsubtle hint, but at the same time unwilling to budge, she settles to follow dutifully a few feet behind him, ready to surge up at any given moment. If he thinks she's going to let him go entirely alone, he's sorely mistaken.

All of a sudden, just as they are about to reach the shade of Cheve's walls, an arrow whizzes past Camilla's ear. She jerks her head to the side, just in time to feel the metal tip graze the flesh of her cheek and then fly past, only to embed itself into the ground. She swipes the pad of her index finger over the stinging wound; blood stains the purple silk of her glove.

Xander bellows something, and is answered by more shouts, angry and aggressive. More bows are loosened by the guards on the towers and walls, and this time Camilla is more prepared to dodge, though she hardly has any need to; Siegfried is swiftly unsheathed and all it takes is a single, broad swing of purple and black flames to incinerate the oncoming cloud of feathered arrows aimed straight at the two royals.

"I merely wish to speak with your leader." Xander thunders, lowering Siegfried when it's clear the barrage of blows has ceased, though the legendary sword still glows in the quickly darkening dusk, a veil of malicious power coating the dark blade. "I have no desire to fight, unless you force my hand to."

Spurred by the commotion, the the rest of their forces, led by Leo, are quick to reach for Xander and Camilla, their respective retainers already with their weapons unsheathed. Laslow and Peri immediately flank Xander, ready to spring into battle at any given moment.

"Don't move." Xander hisses when Camilla nudges Marzia up in the air and, as inconspicuous as she can muster up to be, slides her bolt axe out of the harness tied to Marzia's side. "We haven't come here looking for a fight."

"They've tried to kill us on sight, Xander!" She bursts out, finally tired of playing nice. All the exhaustion, both physical and more importantly mental, all the repressed fear and frustrations she has somehow managed to keep under control up until this moment are threatening to come flooding out like a river breaking out of its banks. Her temper is finally starting to flare, and she wouldn't say no to the chance to blow off some steam. After all, detaching heads from their bodies has become an art to her, one she has long mastered since her youth.

She makes to rise and order Selena and Beruka to charge forward, but right in that moment the doors open with an almighty groan, freezing her on the spot.

Twenty, thirty, fifty - so many, too many, their small group will not stand a chance - men flood out of the gate, all wearing the typical crimson heavy armors of Chevois military, the golden, cross-shaped Chevois symbol emblazoned proudly on the breastplates and shields and capes. Generals and paladins file orderly out of the city border, their spears and swords proudly raised like flags in glaring defiance.

Out of the newly formed opposite ranks, a rough looking great knight steps forward, his humongous silver axe - expensive yes but, unless Camilla's well trained eyes are playing tricks on her, also quite worn out. Cheve's funds must be languishing - swinging slowly in his hand. His long, pale brown hair is tied at the back of his head in a long, billowing ponytail. His face is still quite youthful but bears the unmistakable signs of a long-lasting conflict, aging him severely. He appears to be around his thirties, but the deep lines carving his stubbled and weary face make him look like he's at least ten years older. Due to the distance Camilla can't exactly tell, but she thinks she makes out a few scars running across his features, mangling them even further.

_A long-time veteran_ , she muses bitterly, gripping her own axe tightly. If only she could get a little closer, she could perhaps shoot a lightning bolt strong enough to fry him on the spot.

Then again, that would mean they would have to engage to a battle to the death. She's not fool enough to think seasoned soldiers like the Chevois knights would scatter and surrender just because their leader fell to a sneak attack.

She glances at their own army: a meager, small group of soldiers of proven skill, but tired and exhausted. Were she to pit them against the heavy armored and fresh Chevois units, they would likely end up utterly slaughtered.

Xander moves then, startling her out of her reverie; he steps forward, sheathing Siegfried.

"Xander…" Camilla and Leo both call for him, Leo wearily, Camilla pleadingly, but Xander doesn't stop, keeps marching steadily ahead.

"Do not engage, under absolutely no circumstance," are his only words, spoken without even turning towards his siblings and soldiers, and although the tone is flat, unemotional even, no Nohrian misses the steely command lying underneath, promising a punishment far worse than death to whoever dared defying the King's disposition. Even Camilla feels her skin crawl. 

Hooves echo at Camilla's back, catching her attention; she turns just in time to see Elise emerge out of the rear lines. She looks unusually frightened and distressed, to the point Camilla is tempted to scoop her up into her arms and fly her away from this wretched place.

"What's he doing? He doesn't seriously think he can fight them off all alone, does he? I mean, I know he's incredibly good, but nobody can be _that_ good… right?"

Her gaze flicks madly from Leo to Camilla and vice versa, silently demanding for an answer, challenging them. Camilla lowers her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain to shield herself and buy time for herself to gather her composure back, an attempt to hide an ugly truth that Elise's sharp mind has already glimpsed.

" _Right?!?_ "

Camilla takes a deep breath and straightens up; this is her role, and she will fulfill it to the bitter end, she reminds herself as she readies herself to ladle out the usual sweet and empty promises she had been feeding Corrin and Elise their whole lives - that everything is going to turn out just fine, that Xander and Camilla will take care of everything, that she and Leo don't have to concern themselves with these trivialities, at all - but just as she opens her mouth, the words suddenly lodge in her throat, strangling her like a noose tied tightly at the base of her neck, the moment she meets Elise's eyes, fiery and firm despite the tears, her jaw set in determination and sheer refusal to back down.

_Ah. She has bloomed, at last._

And it strikes her now - only now - that Elise, like Corrin, is no little girl anymore, no sheltered and spoiled little princess who doesn't know any better, who needs to rely on her big brothers and sisters for everything. Elise's world has broadened, her view expanded to include dark and light and all in between, and her older siblings do not take center stage anymore.

A bittersweet taste floods Camilla's mouth. Perhaps it's for the best.

All at once, a cry rings out, followed by the unmistakable, metallic sound of two blades clashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I making Xander too sad and self-sacrificing? I get the feeling I am. I'm sorry for that.
> 
> I'm also sorry that Corrin's characterization is so all over the place. She's just very confused by this whole ordeal and overall not dealing with it so well. She will snap out of it though, I promise!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts and see ya on next chapter - hopefully - soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oohh my goodness, plot is happening! I can't freaking believe this! At long last stuff is moving!!
> 
> Well, gotta say I didn't expect this one to be so quick, but then I got really into it and... Breezed through it? Idk, I just had a lot of fun with the second part of this one and despite everything I'm actually quite happy with how it turned out. Hopefully it's just as enjoyable to read!
> 
> TW for minor character death, blood and minor gore (I tried to avoid being too graphic), and violence. I think that it's all for now? Tell me if I'm forgetting something!

" _What?!?_ "

The figure crouched at the foot of the short length of stairs that leads to the throne quivers.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Roderigo whimpers pathetically, barely raising his head from his prostrate position. He's ragged and filthy; the cut on his cheek he earned at the hand of the Crown Prince must be infected, for the whole side of the malig knight's head is swollen and bruised, and the wound oozes what seems to be pus. Disgusting and disgraceful."We couldn't do anything to stop them… they really are monsters-"

"Silence!"

A spark of magic lightning crackles violently, and the next moment Roderigo is sent flying several feet backwards. He yelps in pain as he ends up sprawled on his back against the cold tiled floor of Krakenburg's throne room.

Iago gestures the two guards flanking the knight to pick him back up to a kneeling position. The two men, impassible as statue, obey without question, bending down to pull the limp form of the man up none too gently. Roderigo groans as he's manhandled so roughly; he looks stunned and more burn marks now soil his already dirty face, but at least he's still lucid.

Iago hastily walks down the steps down the throne, his newly tailored long robes - a proper triumph of Nohr's finest silks and embroidery, purples and blacks and golds cascading down his glorious form and enhancing him as the king he is - slithering against the crimson carpet. As soon as he gets in range of the battered soldier, his free hand shoots out to grab him by the collar of his shirt. Several gold bangles chime gleefully from his slim and elegant wrist.

"I don't care for your pitiful excuses! Tell me," he yells right in Roderigo's face. " _Where are they going?_ "

He suddenly lets go and takes a step back; Roderigo chokes and coughs, hanging down his head only for one of the guards to fist their hand into his hair and forcibly pull him up again.

"I… I don't know… They only asked on the situation in Nohr… and I mentioned Cheve's rebels…"

The remark has Iago's alarm bells blare at full volume. He feels himself go pale, faint even. He clutches the Thoron tome closer to himself.

"Cheve? _Cheve?!?_ You fool, what have you done!!!"

Spittle flies all around the increasingly distressed king, spraying all over the prisoner, who scrunches his eyes close and tries to duck down to protect himself, but to no avail.

Iago whirls around, wringing his hands together furiously. Suddenly the majestic room - so pleasant and comfortable until just a few moments ago - seems so dreadfully cold, and yet he can feel the first few beads of perspiration across his forehead, matting his long hair to his scalp, causing his palms to grow disgustingly clammy. A most unpleasant sensation he hasn't felt in the two years he has ascended to the throne now gnaws at the pit of his stomach, heavy and oppressing.

Fear.

"My Lord," Roderigo wails again, "please forgive me! Allow me another chance-"

He doesn't get a word further than that: in a blinding movement, Iago has turned around towards him and snaps the Thoron open. A beam of pure lightning flashes from his outstretched open palm and bounces against the polishes marbles and irons. Roderigo rattles and quakes, so violently even the two burly guards have no choice but to let him go and drop face down on the floor. The charred body stiffens and seizes once more before it finally comes to a stop. Blood and other fluids exude and pool under the rapidly wilting cadaver as the pungent stench of smoke and burned flesh fills the room.

Utterly unfazed by the gruesome spectacle, the king turns his back to the remains of what used to be his second in command. "Take it away before it stinks up the whole room and stains the carpet. Then leave and don't let anyone come through. I demand to be left in peace."

If the two guards are bothered at all to have witnessed their king administer his punishment, they do not show it. Without a word they wrap the body into their capes, taking particular care so the fluids don't drip on the floor, and lift it. The heavy doors close behind them with a loud bang.

"Curse them," he hisses to no one as he paces back and forth. "Couldn't they just stay dead?"

He glances up to the throne, thoroughly appreciating the ever so comfortable crimson velvet cushion, the intricate patterns resembling rose thorns and splintered bones carved out of the finest marble and the typical Nohrian black iron. He climbs up and sits down, splays his long fingers across the throne's arm, claws possessively at the stone. The sight up here is exhilarating as it absolutely dominates on whoever is brave - or foolish, Iago has long learned the two terms can be applied as synonyms more often than not - enough to stand in the presence of the ruler of the almighty Nohr.

He remembers, oh if he remembers, how it feels to be bowing and kneeling at the foot of a being who could have his neck snapped in a matter of seconds. He remembers how it feels, to force himself to act in a servile manner towards a bunch of ingrateful, disrespectful brats who had struck gold on the heritage roulette and were born to their prestigious father.

But then, when the brats and Garon disappeared and Nohr's court threatened to collapse in the middle of the squabble among the nobles, who was the one who rose above and struck a deal with them? Who else had the strategic skills to keep the court from being torn apart, all the while the royal family was off gallivanting on their own? Yes, him! Iago alone had found the strength and cunning to do so! It is only right that he gets to take the throne! It's shameful that Garon's thrice accursed children would even dare to think of taking the crown back from him!!

No matter, he reasons as he stands and resumes his pacing about the room, he will crush them, crush them all under the sole of his boot, and then they will know what grave mistake they committed by showing their face in Nohr, he'll force them to their knees in defeat, especially the two, arrogant and insufferable princes; he will take the youngest princess and threaten her with a most horrible death if they don't comply - and they will, for they are so foolishly sentimental - and he'll have them beg for mercy, grovel to ground like the insects they are, the long awaited payback for the years of humiliation he had to endure at their hands.

He can already envision the scene, can ready hear the four royals kneeling, right in this same room, craning their necks to try and look at him as they plead to have mercy, _King Iago_ , oh what a fine day that is going to be....

But the Chevois rebels are an issue indeed. Should Lord Xander manage to sway them to his favor, their experience on the battlefield might prove troublesome for Nohr's wider, but also less skilled, army. Oh, how he curses himself for not squashing them since the first day they showed sign of rebellion. For two years they've been a constant thorn in his side, working tirelessly to destabilize his reign. For one rebellion he and his allies managed to purge and quell, another would sprang up without fail.

He's so absorbed in his musings that he fails to realize the door leading to the foyer has opened until it slams close again. All too glad to have a fool to vent some of his newfound frustrations on, he readies a second lightning incantation to fry them to death in less than an instant.

"I've said-" but all of a sudden his aggressive temper fades, as well as the sphere of magic hovering above his palm. His features readjust to an expression of sullen indifference. "Oh, it's you."

"You don't look too happy to see me, my _dear_ ," Daniela glides ever so gracefully towards him, her glorious gown a perfect match to his. Her smile is sweet and serene, and yet he does not miss the coldness in her shrewd eyes, always calculating and waiting for him to make a false step and create an opening for her to gobble him up whole. "Stress doesn't suit you, my king. Perhaps I may offer a massage? I can assure they work wonders on the nerves."

Iago nearly scoffs. Everyone knows their hastily arranged marriage is nothing more than a contract, a deal in no way different from those he had already formed with many other nobles. And if his ongoing research on time and immortality turn out to be fruitful, there will be no need to concern themselves with an heir at all.

Perhaps, there will be no need to keep Daniela around any longer.

But it's soon, too soon. Should he try to get rid of her now the army would split and weaken, and many of the council would try to gain the upper hand in the game of power. He has to wait for the perfect chance, make it seem like an accident when the time is right…

Daniela sashays up to him, smiling coyly as she wraps slender but strong arms around his waist. He stiffens.

"Now, now, I couldn't help but hear about Roderigo's report," she coos oh so sweetly, "What an unpleasant surprise. I genuinely thought they were dead."

He scowls and wiggles his way free from her grasp. "Eavesdropping, huh? Hardly an activity fit for the glorious queen of Nohr."

Her beatific smile doesn't falter, but her eyes grow cold. "But fit for a general who is used to the terrains surrounding Cheve, wouldn't you agree?"

"What are you implying?"

"Send me to deal with them," she says nonchalantly. "I have spent a long part of my military career stationed at the border and suppressing rebellions. I know the ropes of the job. I'll have the princes' and princesses' heads served to you on a silver platter in no time."

She grabs his forearm in what he supposes should be a charming, even seductive act, but her grip is just a touch too strong and her painted lips stretched just a tad too wide and wickedly to be believable. She's planning something; perhaps to strike a bargain with Garon's children and join their march to overthrow him?!? Plausible, and fully in line with her power-hungry attitude. But then again, she would undoubtedly have a hard time fighting them off alone once they conquered Windmire.

And then, there's that delicious scenario: Daniela and the former royals slaughtering each other, leaving him free to rule undisputed! Oh what a glorious victory that would be, getting rid of both his enemies in one big swoop. Killing two birds with one stone.

The prospect is, Iago will not deny it, extremely tempting. He remembers the impressive strength and leading skills of the royal children, a strength Daniela's skills as strategist cannot even come close to. But the numbers are on their side, and if Daniela arguably has a better lay on the land than Xander does…

"Very well, then, _my Queen_ ," he smiles as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, emphasizing her title like he means it - and indeed, Daniela puffs out her chest in pride, already rejoicing in her apparent victory, what a foolishly vain and shallow woman. "I will delegate this task to you. I'm certain you will not disappoint our beloved country. Take as many units as you see fit and depart for Cheve immediately. I want to see the town leveled down to the ground and erased from every map! Not a brick will be left standing of that accursed place! Make sure no building and soldier will survive, and you'll be thoroughly honored and awarded!"

"Of course, my most cherished King. I will be honored to slaughter personally the barbarians that dare to threaten our enlightened rule. With your permission."

She curtsies ever so ceremoniously and spins on her heels, hiding the wicked grin on her face from Iago's suspicious eyes.

* * *

Had Xander been any less trained to spot an incoming attack as he is, he's certain the Chevois great knight would have managed to cleave his head off. As a matter of fact, with a repentine flick of Xander's wrist, the silver axe merely clangs loudly against Siegfried's blade, dealing no damage. The man hisses out a curse, his scarred face twisted in rage.

"Death to the Nohrians!!"

As one, the crimson clad soldiers rise their weapons and let out a matching bellow, loud enough to make the ground tremble. Then they move, fast and yet in orderly fashion - experienced soldiers, he can see why Cheve's knights are so renowned throughout the whole continent, well outside Nohr's borders - and make to charge straight at him, swords and pikes and axes rose up high.

With a glare Xander pushes off the axe forcefully enough to cause the great knight to lose his balance and stumble back, giving him enough space and time to swing Siegfried and fend off the incoming cavalry.

The air around him ripples, causing his hair to stand on end as a powerful wave of magic flows through his sistem; a moment later, just as the opposing paladins and chevaliers are about to enter within a twenty feet radius from him, the ground erupts and thick black roots rise up, coiling themselves together to form an impenetrable barrier surrounding Xander and the Chevois leader. The horses rear and whinny, terrified, and the paladins are forced to retreat a few feet to calm them down. At the same time, two wyverns fly past him at incredible speed, axes swinging and lightning bolts shooting all around. He looks up just in time to catch a purple blur.

A moment later, the rest of the Nohrian forces, led by Leo, are fully engaged with the Chevois knights, the battle raging furiously around the secluded space he and the other knight are enclosed in.

_Leo, what in the world do you think you're doing?!?_

But he has no time to curse at his younger brother's foolish rashness; as soon as the Chevois man recovers from the surprise, he wastes no time to bear down on Xander, slashing his axe with a wide sweeping movement that Xander barely dodges.

"Eyes on me, Nohrian scum!!"

Another swing; Xander parries again with the flat of Siegfried's blade, flinching ever so slightly when the aftershock of the powerful blow ripples through his fingers and wrist, threatening to shatter the bone beneath. With a grunt, he pushes off against it and slides his blade against the axe's long handle in a downward arch, allowing the weight to derail towards the ground and disengage Siegfried from the pressure. The axe nearly flies off the other man's hand, but soon enough he has recovered and galloped away in the follow through. The two knights canter in a circle, studying each other warily.

"As I already said, we have no wish to fight you. A conflict between us would only play in Iago's favor!"

"What do you know, huh?" The knight spats back, lunging forward once more. This time Xander blocks with his shield, the edge of the axe biting on the royal crest emblazoned on the metal so viciously that the gold chips off. "You've thrived and tyrannized over Cheve and the rest of Nohr during Garon's rule, then you disappear for two years, leaving us all in the hands of that Iago vermin! Now you dare to show your face at Cheve's doorstep and claim you 'just want to talk'?!? I don't think so, princeling!"

He flashes forward, but Xander is faster and takes the offensive for the first time since their impromptu duel began: before the Chevois can fully raise his axe for a side sweep, Xander has already sent Alec galloping ahead, closing in on the knight, Siegfried raised and pointed in a spear-like fashion. The knight curses and only barely manages to bring up his own shield in time to deflect the blow. The metal shreds and crumples like torn paper under the combined weight and heat of Siegfried's, and it flies from the man's arm, falling to the paved ground with a defeated clatter.

"You son of a-"

Xander tugs on Alec's reins and the horse dutifully rears on his hind legs, the deafening whinny he lets out drowning out the rest of the Chevois's insult.

"I don't blame you for being wary of me and my people," he says slowly, mind working a hundred miles per hour trying to figure out a way to break through the man's shell without resorting to a fight that would only be inconvenient, if not frankly detrimental, for both parties involved. "However, the conditions changed. Garon and the powerful evil that controlled him is no more. Nohr has finally the chance to break free from the bloody oppression that has tied it down for so long, but that scenario will stay a mere utopia until the moment we join our forces and work together to evict the usurper Iago. My siblings and I only wish peace for Nohr and its neighboring countries."

The Chevois man sneers. "As though I will believe a single word your filthy mouth is spouting, son of Garon! Tell me, how much blood of Nohrians and not Nohrians alike has that fancy sword of yours drunken since you wielded it? How many rebellions you have quelled at your beloved daddy's order? Never stopped to ask _why_ citizens with no training were suddenly taking up arms against fully armed and trained soldiers? No, of course not!!" He laughs, full of mockery and spite, spreading his arms. "It was just easier to do as Daddy says, like an obedient lapdog, and slaughter them all! Out of sight, out of mind, right?!?"

Xander feels the barb cut deep into him like the deadliest of arrows, prodding and reopening invisible scars that never really closed in the first place. His fist tightens around Siegfried's hilt, so hard that it hurts. Ribbons of purple energy coil and twist around the blade, wafting from the sacred stone embedded in the gold hilt all the way up to the tip, begging to be released and taste blood.

"I was in no position to do anything about it." He eventually replies, unsurprised to find his voice coming out hard and stern, much like the harsh persona he used to present himself to the world back in Garon's days. "I had something to protect." He adds, like an afterthought, much quieter, as though not meant to be heard by anyone else.

The man laughs derisively. "Welcome to the real world, princeling!! Everyone has something they wish to protect! That's why we fight to begin with!!"

The knight charges forward again, sunken eyes blown wide and clearly thirsting for revenge. The impact of his axe against Siegfried is tremendous, to the point Xander is almost pushed back. They're pressed so close, he can almost feel the other man's breath coming out in puffs, warm and ragged and bearing the slightest hint of cheap alcohol.

"Tell me, son of Garon, where is Scarlet?!?"

The man's cry takes a sharp turn for the desperate, and then it hits Xander, harder than any physical blow. It's like watching himself in the mirror, the way the man hits so aggressively, how he seems determined to tear Xander up piece by piece even if it kills him, even though the gap in skill and stamina is starting to show.

"She's dead."

He knows it's blunt, he knows he couldn't have hit him hard enough with Siegfried to cause him the pain those three words alone inflict to the knight as they impale him like swords, but in the few blows they have traded he has learned enough of this man, of his dedication to his cause, to have earned himself Xander's respect. There is no need no sweeten the pill.

The man's strength falters for a second, his features darken and twist in unspeakable sorrow, though there is a somber tone to it that lets Xander understand he had already come to terms with that conclusion. It's not consolation or hope that the Chevois knight seeks from him; it's closure.

He wishes he was granted the same privilege.

It lasts but a second, however. The Chevois immediately recovers and resumes his assault, perhaps even more viciously than before.

"Then I'll send you to beg for forgiveness in front of her, Nohrian scum!!!"

"It was not I the one who slew her." Xander hastily tries to explain as he keeps dodging and parrying, resists the temptation to take the initiative and put an end to this fight. "Scarlet has died a hero's death, sacrificing herself for a greater cause, of much more importance than Nohr, Hoshido and Cheve themselves. You should be proud-"

"I'll be proud when I'll throw your dead body six feet into the ground, murderous fiend!!"

Finally, Xander has enough. This is clearly not working, and the more time he wastes trying to get this man to see past his - rightful, he will not deny that - grief and quest for revenge, the higher the likelihood of casualties become, in a time when neither party can afford to lose a single unit. It's time to change approach entirely.

He dodges the umpteenth swing of the axe and pulls on the reins, forcing Alec to swerve out of the other man's reach right at the last second. Still unbalanced, the great knight's whole right side is now exposed. He slams Siegfried's flat hard against the man's rib cage, hard enough to put a deep dent into the heavy armor and to tip his balance. The Chevois knight falls ruinously to the ground, the axe spinning out of his grasp.

"Enough of this nonsensical quarrel," Xander commands, pointing Siegfried at the neck of the fallen man. "We are wasting time and energies we could invest in something much more productive for the sake of both our homelands."

The knight spits, full of contempt. If looks alone could kill, Xander would be long dead.

"Kill me, then, Nohrian bastard. Kill me and conquer Cheve, as you're used to do. But know that even if you kill us all, our Chevois spirits will live on, and won't rest until you and your family are in ruins."

For maddening moment, Xander's sword hand twitches and he sees red at the unveiled threat to his family. Under normal conditions, he would have no qualms to cut down whoever dares posing such a heavy threat on any member of his closest family. And yet, although not without some difficulty, he stills his hand. He lets his arm hang limply at his side. The knight's eyes widen a fraction as surprise flashes by them, if only for the briefest of moments.

"There will be no need for that. I haven't come in the vest of a King, and even less so as a Conqueror. I merely wish to be listened to, as a knight as you yourself are. And if you don't believe me, which I don't doubt," he smiles wryly, extending his free hand to the fallen man to help him out to his feet. The other doesn't move in the least. "I'm ready to prove my worth and conviction to you, following the Chevois customs you are so proud of."

The knight - in the heat of the moment, Xander has failed to realize he never asked for the Chevois leader's name until now - eyes him warily, suspicious, and yet something has changed in his demeanor. The hostility is still present, but something akin to reluctant respect now mingles and waters it down as the man pointedly ignores the proffered hand and pushes himself up, never letting Xander out of his sight. Xander lets his arm fall back once more.

"You _know_ of our traditions…?"

He sounds impressed despite himself.

"The Chevois chivalric order has always been justly renowned and respected by the knights of Nohr. I, as a Paladin myself, am no different."

"And you, Crown Prince of Nohr and allegedly next to the throne, would be willing to step down your high horse and enter the Chevois trial?"

" _'A knight's conviction and true inner strength must be conveyed through his or her blade, and never stray off the path for personal gain.'_ " Xander effortlessly recites the first of the commandments that were hammered into his brain when, barely in his teens, he first took the sword and was made to take the vows of Nohr's knighthood. "I'm fully ready to do whatever it takes to put an end to the bloodshed that has been plaguing our countries for far too long; I ask for nothing more than a chance to prove it."

The knight stays silent, seizes him up, looking desperately for signs betraying Xander's true intentions. Xander stays still and never breaks eye contact even when he feels like he's being stripped and sectioned and judged not worthy enough. The ghost of Garon laughs from the back of his mind, in loud thrumming of his own blood - Garon's blood - in his ears.

Then, finally the knight huffs.

"Fine. You get one chance. You win, we accept to listen to you; you lose, you get the hell away from my town. Is that clear?"

Xander has to summon forth all his self-control not to slump forward as relief washes over him in powerful waves. "Of course, a chance is all I ask."

The knight reaches to the satchel attached to his horse and takes a cornet out. He blows in it, emitting a low, wailing sound. At the same time, Xander lifts Siegfried and lets a jet of black and purple flames out of the tip, tearing a massive hole into the protective cocoon Leo has made out of Brynhildr's power. The effect is enough to let the fight outside get to an immediate standstill.

The knight scoffs.

"Figures, fancy powers. By the way," he addresses Xander once again. "The name's Ross. You'd do better remembering that."

* * *

"You _can't_ be serious, brother."

They're in the armory of the old arena Ross and his soldiers have led them to for Xander to go through the trial: according to his knowledge, he's supposed to fight off four champions of Ross's choice in a row, only to finish with a skirmish with Ross himself as Cheve's leader and strongest fighter. Ross has explicitly forbidden any form of lethal injury or killing, but the glares many of the Chevois units have thrown at him tell him they would be none too sorry if a spear _accidentally slipped_ and happened to pierce his heart from side to side. He doubts even Ross, despite his dedication to the Chevois chivalric order, will resist the temptation to get a few good hits on him.

Despite the air of open hostility surrounding him, Xander can't help but feel confident and, for the first time in a long while, rather hopeful. He only needs to cross blades and win against five expert fighters, and then the plan will finally be set in motion. He'll need to be quick; too much time has already been wasted, and with every passing second the chances Iago found out about their return increase exponentially. After that, deducing their next step from the Canyon would probably be child's play for the usurperer: although never particularly brilliant in strategy despite what he claimed at court - and never anywhere close to Leo's level, as Elise and Camilla never failed to remind the sorcerer whenever he was being a particularly nasty nuisance - Iago has still served at Garon's court for many years, and isn't enough of a fool not to put two and two together.

"As a matter of fact, I am, Leo."

He's supposed to be alone to pick his weapon of choice out of the vast array the armory has to offer, only to be escorted by a couple of guards to make sure no foul play was involved. Still, somehow - and here Xander suspects Niles and, to a lesser extent, Odin have a heavy hand in this oh so convenient occurrence - Leo has managed to get the guards out of the room and sneak in without anyone being the wiser. Despite his lingering disappointment at Leo's previous act of insubordination, he can't help but be impressed by Leo's apparently endless resourcefulness; normally, he would even be proud of his younger brother's little exploit, if Leo hadn't come so determined to dissuade him from the task he's about to embark on.

As of now, Leo is looking most uncharacteristically frazzled and distraught, cheeks tinged red out of fury and exhaustion and a smear of vulnerary glinting oily over his right temple, where an arrow had grazed him in the earlier scuffle out of the city's gates. He looks like he's about to have a seizure.

"Xander, please see reason," Leo tries again, growing more and more frustrated with every failed attempt to get through his stubborn older brother. "We've been marching non-stop for the whole day. You're not fit for this task."

The glare Xander throws him is enough to have the second prince wince and deflate.

"I mean," he quickly backpedals as the blush on his cheek increases in intensity and spreads like a wildfire to engulf his ears, as it always does whenever Leo feels like he has embarrassed himself and his family, "We all know all too well your incredible prowess on the battlefield, but you're human as well. You should get some proper rest for once. Should something happen to you-"

"I would fall here and prove I'm not worthy of leading Nohr to the peaceful era it deserves, while you would rise up and take my place at the lead. I fail to see where the problem lies." Xander completes the sentence Leo trailed off so fearfully on as he unlatches Siegfried's scabbard from his belt and lays the heavy zweihänder against the wall. He quickly scans the rows of swords of various materials and shape until he spots a promising silver sword. He reaches out to grab it. It's a little old and bears the unmistakable signs of intense usage, like everything he has seen in Cheve so far, but the edge has been polished and sharpened recently, and the weapon appears to be in fairly good shape overall.

Leo gapes at him, thoroughly scandalized. "Xander!"

Xander stops in the middle of a testing swing, guilt immediately flooding his mouth like bile as he takes in the sight of Leo, usually so composed and cool in nearly every situation, now reduced to the distressed nineteen year old boy he _is_ , under all the highfalutin titles that have been heaped at him since he first started showing his considerable talents in magic and strategy. Xander's heart aches at the prospect of unloading yet another burden on Leo's still young shoulders; and yet, at the same time, he knows Leo would be the one clever enough to devise a system to carry that weight without breaking under its pressure.

"Leo," he begins, trying to appear more confident than he feels. Open displays of brotherly affections used to be heavily discouraged back at Father's court (unsurprisingly so, considering the high tensions running among Garon's concubines), and though Xander and Camilla always strived to find alternate ways to express their love and support, the lack of practice in tackling more emotional matters since then still carries on to this day as an uncomfortable awkwardness that sometimes springs up, especially with Leo's already unforthcoming attitude. Still, when Leo's lower lip trembles and his eyes flit about, suspiciously bright and unable to fix on anything, Xander still feels that old protectiveness surge up from within. He lifts his free hand and places it on Leo's shoulder.

"Leo, your concern honors me to no end. However, I have no plan to fall and die here, rest assured. There is still much that needs to be done to fix the many wrongs this country has suffered, and this is but the first, small step on that road. This is my duty, not only as Crown Prince but also - and most importantly - as your older brother; I do not intend to shirk away from it."

Leo scowls, not unlike the way he used to whenever his nurse gave him a particularly bitter medicine, when he was barely older than an infant. Gods, time has really flown.

"We could… find another way. I'm sure if we put our minds together we may come up with a better plan."

"Leo…"

"You don't have to look out for us anymore!" Leo nearly yells, startling Xander. "Elise and I are capable to stand our ground now. I can-"

" _Leo_ ," Xander playfully slaps the crown of Leo's head, nowhere near enough to cause any pain at all, just a light blow to startle him out of his tirade. Leo blinks blearily and shuts up, realizing he has overstepped his boundaries but refusing categorically to drop the fight. The similarities with Corrin are astounding, and never more than now the two had looked like twins. "You're the most brilliant mage and tactician Nohr has seen in centuries. We cannot afford to lose you, if we want to see our dream of a peaceful Nohr to fruition. That is the reason I need you to step aside and let me deal with this issue."

Leo turns even redder at the unexpected praise, and Xander can see why Elise jokingly calls him 'tomato' from time to time. The younger prince opens his mouth to retorts something, but right in that moment two sets of steps echo out of the room, and the missing guards - one if which sports a truly glorious black eye and looks quite disgruntled - appear at the door.

"It is time, challenger."

Xander sighs. "I understand. Leo, I don't need any assistance. Reach for the rest of our units and get some well deserved rest for the time being. I will be back soon."

On impulse, he combs a hand through Leo's hair, mussing it all over the place. Leo lets out an indignant squawk in retaliation, but he's too late: with a swirl of his cape, Xander is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iago is delusional af lmao
> 
> And here we meet Ross, the one OC that really matters! Keep him in mind, he'll be important later.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sold on this one due to stress and writer's block working together to bring me down, but I really wanted to get out this chapter. This is where the things start to turn and really get moving. I hope it's readable.

Elise may be no knight, but that doesn't mean she can't appreciate a good fight when she sees one.

As a matter of fact, she _was_ trained on how to wield a sword, back in Krakenburg, as it was a mandatory skill no royal could be lacking on. Only her siblings' intervention and expert cajoling managed to keep her training particularly light, almost casual, and spared her time to instead dedicate to healing magic and pharmacy, even if it meant even more work on their shoulders as the military duties she was supposed to take on, with time, were slowly shifted on them, leaving her free to do what she wanted. Back then she was too young to fully appreciate the effort, but now the mere memory is enough to twist her insides in guilt.

That being said, although she hasn't practiced in forever, Elise has seen her fair share of duels in her life - perhaps even one too many, she finds herself thinking bitterly - and is more than well acquainted with her eldest brother's strength. She knows he should have absolutely no trouble in dealing with these guys. He should be able to breeze past them as though they aren't even there.

And yet, as she's forced to watch the battle unfolding in the arena from the terraces, disarmed and with a spear aimed at the base of her neck - like the rest of the Nohrian forces - she can't shake off the feeling something is wrong.

Her heart skips a few beats as Xander and the first Chevois paladin cross blades and engage in a furious joust, a flurry of blows and parries and metal biting against metal and clawing at skin. It's obvious to anyone who has the faintest education on sword fighting that the two fighters are extremely skilled and experienced, their strength evenly matched. Elise has never put much value in the jousting tournaments Garon would hold sometimes - jousting that in the later half of his reign turned into cruel and bloody battle royales, more often than not pitting criminals against each other in a battle to the death to earn their freedom back through strength and bloodlust alone. She thinks that's how Hans got out of jail in the first place - but even she can't deny it’s a mesmerizing sight to behold. Each time the swords scream and clang against each other sends shivers down her spine, cause her hair to stand on end.

But something _is_ wrong. She can’t really put her finger on _what_ , exactly, but she’s sure of it. Xander’s stance and moves are flawless as ever, every swing and parry ever so solid and confident, awe-inspiring even. However, at times she feels like he holds back the blow at the last second, slows it down and allows the enemy to swiftly dodge and counterattack. Due to the distance and her own lack of experience she isn’t able to tell precisely, but Xander doesn’t seem particularly surprised when that happens, as though it’s exactly what he’s expecting, as though it has been planned all along. And all she can do is watch as the paladin’s sword swings and Xander _casually happens_ to raise his shield just a moment too late, allowing the blade to nick the armor and tear the skin underneath. Xander doesn’t even react at the newly made injury; he doesn’t wince, doesn’t look surprised, doesn’t even acknowledge the blood seeping through and dripping to the ground, staining the dusty floor scarlet. He simply unleashes another barrage of blows on the opponent, until the paladin is finally overwhelmed and is thrown off his horse, his sword flying off far out of his reach, and forced to admit his defeat through clenched teeth.

As her companions around her cheer on the first victory and start to relax, she instead finds herself growing even more anxious, her eyes never leaving Xander as the fallen paladin begrudgingly gathers his fallen sword and broken spear and clears the arena for the following general. Her medical eye doesn't miss the slight slump in Xander's form, or the ever so light limp as he dismounts and readies himself to square off against the heavy armored opponent. Was he injured to the leg in the skirmish earlier? He really should get that checked and treated as soon as possible, Elise has seen far too many people die for underestimating an apparently small nick into the leg.

She bites her lip as the second fight begins amidst the growing cheers, wishing she still had her staff to clutch onto. She doesn't like where this is going; exhaustion and blood loss are starting to wear down on her brother and if someone doesn't intervene it's soon going to turn for the worst. She glances to her left; many Nohrian soldiers are being vocal in their support to their future king, even going as far as to enjoy themselves as though this is nothing more than a normal jousting tournament with no stakes or anything. Peri and the Wolfskin, Keaton, seem particularly excited about the blood splattering on the ground. Laslow, who occasionally has to step in and push Peri back down into her seat when she gets a little overboard with her cheering, doesn't seem to share his fellow retainer's glee; his face is grim as he watches carefully his liege's every move, and Elise knows he is seeing exactly what she has noticed as well: Xander's movements are subtly, but steadily, becoming slower and sloppier. His face doesn't betray anything, as always, as he keeps his detached facade on and just keeps plowing through the pain and fatigue. Elise's inner doctor screams in outrage and fear as she remembers he hasn't slept or eaten properly since the day before, perhaps even longer. He can't go on like that, if he plans to live another day.

Still, out of what it feels to her like willpower alone, even the general is felled, and so are the two following opponents. All that is left if the great knight, the Ross guy who seems to be Cheve's leader.

This time it's impossible to miss the stagger in Xander's step as he climbs on Alec's back once more. His whole appearance is haggard, for lack of a better word: a cut where the third paladin's spear grazed him runs along his hairline, coating half his face and his golden curls in a thick layer of rapidly congealing blood; his armor is dented in several places, his scapula is stained with blood and dirt, and blood seeps, slow and lazily, from the many cuts and scratches marring his flesh where the armor doesn't cover. Nevertheless, his stance is firm and unyielding, proud and steady, as a King should be. Even the Chevois knights seem to have caught on it and are impressed despite themselves, for their insults towards Xander and the rest of the Nohrians have gradually tapered off to a light and inintelligible grumble.

The two bow stiffly at each other, as the chivalric order commands. Elise fists her hands tightly into her skirt as she can only watch the slight slump in Xander’s shoulders, the quick heave of his chest. Her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage, the noise of her blood drumming in her ears nearly drowning off the war cry the Chevois great knight lets out as he charges ahead, spear raised high and roughly aimed at Xander’s heart. She gasps as her fears are confirmed: this guy has no intention to give up without a fight to the death, ceremony be damned. Loud cheers and encouragements from the Chevois soldiers follow suit, occasionally accompanied by a few more insults and slurs hurled at Xander and the Nohrians as their captain’s bravery fills them with bravado once again.

Beside her, Leo hisses, extremely annoyed. “Couldn’t they just shut their mouth, once and for all? What are they, monkeys?”

Elise knows her brother too well to miss the abject fear hidden under the insult.

Xander, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. The taunts and jibes slide and wash over him like oil, all his attention focused on the approaching enemy and nothing else. He waits patiently, readjustes the sword in his hand as to grip it more firmly, and then darts forward.

The battle that ensues is not something Elise will forget any time soon.

It feels like the whole world has stopped as the two fighters clash against each other, time and time again. Blow after blow, more cuts appear in their flesh, more blood sprays and splatters to the ground, turning the soil into a crimson mush. The crowd is eerily quiet now, even the Chevois spectators and Peri, mesmerized and unsettled by the show of might and skill that can only come from two ideals clashing, never yielding an inch.

_Again_ , she finds herself thinking bitterly. _Because fighting is the only thing we're good at, apparently._

It's not true - well, not entirely. Her siblings and their retainers are indeed very well versed in all forms of combat. They _had to_ be, in order to survive under Father's rule - and she hates that she has no way to prove it. Despite all their best efforts, there is just no escaping the fact Garon's sins are still weighing heavily over her family's shoulders - Xander's especially - and although she hates it she still can't find it in herself to blame the people for being distrustful.

Still, it's not fair. All they ask is a chance to be listened to. There should be no need to fight and shed more blood just to _talk_.

She supposes that's just how Nohr is - or rather, has been reduced to. She wonders if Nohr has ever known true peace, or if the war and thirst for blood simply runs too deep in its people, in its soil itself, to be truly quelled.

For the umpteenth time, she wishes she was in Hoshido, playing in the sun and exploring the lush fields and gardens with Corrin and listening, enraptured, to Sakura as she plays the koto with dainty but firm hands. She wishes to poke fun at Leo as he loses yet another game of shogi against Takumi, to laugh at Hinoka's attempts to sew a patchwork cape faster than Camilla, to sit and doze off as Xander and Ryoma drone on and on about complicated and boring stuff like politics and economics.

Instead, she has to sit tight and swallow the bile that floods her mouth as more and more of her brother’s blood flies and scatters, like a deadly drizzle.

Then, all of a sudden, Ross’s spear spins, and in a flash it thrusts forward, right when Xander is about to close in. Elise watches, as though time has suddenly slowed down, as the pike slams against the plate covering Xander’s right side, right below his ribcage, with enough force to bend and pierce the thick metal and embed itself firmly into the flesh underneath. Xander staggers to a halt and his sword arm, still raised, twitches. Other than that, he’s careful not to betray any sign of pain or discomfort. The great knight smirks triumphantly.

“Xander!!”

Before she can think twice, Elise shoots up to her feet and lunges to the railing, ready to vault off the barrier and jump straight into the arena. She doesn’t really waste time to think of what she’s going to do once she’s there, but she honestly can’t care less about that now; all that matters is that her big brother is injured and tired and bleeding everywhere, and he’s going to bloody _die_ if someone doesn’t intervene and puts a stop to this madness.

She’ll be damned if she lets it happen.

Elise never particularly appreciated being so short amidst the notoriously tall Nohrians, but she has to admit it has its advantages, namely more agility and the fact that she’s a lot easier to miss as a target than, let’s say, giants like Benny or Xander himself. She dodges Arthur and Effie’s attempts to grab her and drag her back to her seat, and she’s way out of Leo’s reach by the time he even realizes she has moved at all and starts reaching for her. In an instant, in a spur of adrenaline-fuel strength she hasn’t known she possesses until now, she is already lifting herself off the railing.

And then she isn’t anymore.

Quick and ready as an eagle diving on its prey, impossibly strong arms appear out of nowhere, coiling around her waist and harshly pulling her back to safety. Elise thrashes and flails and fights against the clamping embrace that keeps her prisoner, but to no avail. Camilla’s hold is just too strong.

“Don’t interfere. Have faith in your brother.” Camilla whispers urgently in her ear, shifting Elise’s rioting form in her arms as easily as she would handle a lifeless ragdoll, placing herself in front of Elise as to better shield her from the Chevois guards and their now raised spears. Camilla throws them a pointed glare, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge their threatening presence.

Neither does Elise. “He has lost so much blood already, Camilla! I need to-”

She’s cut off when Camilla all but shoves her back into the nearest empty seat. She nearly topples over, but Leo is on guard and this time he’s quick enough to steady her to a proper sitting position.

“You need to do nothing,” the first princess of Nohr hisses, her one visible eye glinting dangerously with the first traces of a full blown meltdown. “Just sit back here, and watch. That’s an _order_.”

Elise flinches. Her siblings _hate_ pulling rank on one another, _especially_ Camilla. She just doesn’t have it in her to be mean to her family.

Then, a guttural yell echoes throughout the arena, followed by a loud thud and the sound of hooves scurrying off. Elise’s heart leaps up in her throat, panic rising like a tidal wave.

“Xan-”

But the fallen man, disarmed and sprawled on his back, wears crimson armor and long hazelnut hair. A nasty gash runs along his cheekbone, and he scowls ferociously at the sword Xander - now dismounted and with the broken tip of the pike still firmly planted in his flesh, acting like a cap on the wound and preventing more blood loss - is pointing at his throat, putting just enough pressure to cut through the skin alone and cause blood to bead out of the shallow wound. Just a flick of his wrist, and Ross’s head would be flying off.

If only he wanted, he could claim the great knight’s life, and the town as a whole. The dismay painted on the Chevois soldiers at the sight of their defeated leader is witness to that.

For a second, Elise thinks he’s actually going to do it. The silver bites into the soft flesh with more ferocity, more blood dribbles down as Xander’s scowl deepens, face contorted by the desire of vengeance and utter dominance, an instinct that was beaten into him since the moment he could wield a sword.

For a second, she doesn’t recognize him as Garon’s ghost wraps itself around the figure of her brother, hiding him.

For a second, she’s _afraid_.

The sword drops. Xander takes a step back and throws it aside. It clatters harmlessly to the ground, rising a small cloud of dust in its wake.

"I believe it's my win." He says with unflappable calm, utterly unfazed by his many injuries. Elise can't help but notice the fallen knight is far less severely wounded than himself. It's clear Xander held back the whole time.

The knight spits again, struggling a little to raise himself to his feet. He probably knows Xander hasn't been giving his all, never really wanted to fight him.

" _Fine_ , you freaks. Follow me."

* * *

"Hyaa!!"

Corrin lunges forward, her practice sword grabbed firmly with both hands and hoisted above her left shoulder, readying a downward swing towards the right. Her bare toes splay against the lush grass of Shirasagi's gorgeous courtyard, the blades tickling the skin of her soles, as she steps forward, ready to strike-

All of a sudden, Kaze disappears, the dull wooden blade cutting through the afterimage's stomach, without meeting solid flesh. Her balance falters, her momentum propels her forward.

She barely has the time to realize it and hiss out a curse that she plants her left feet in front of her, breaking her fall, and then twists her torso backwards, bringing up her sword in an upward arching movement in front of her, in a defensive stance.

She makes it just in time. Kaze's sword clatters against hers, pushing her back. She digs her feet firmly into the soft ground, clenching her teeth in exertion. She barely hears Silas whooping and cheering for her from the nearby tree he's leaning against.

It's the first time Corrin is successful in deflecting Kaze's sneak attack, and it's clear the ninja is surprised at the unexpected failure. His eyes widen a fraction, the pressure relents ever so slightly, just enough to allow Corrin to suddenly twist her hold on her sword and sweep it to the side. Kaze's sword flies off his pliant hands and falls to the grass as Corrin points the blunt tip at his nose. After a beat of surprise, Kaze smiles softly.

"Alas, I knew this would eventually happen," he says with a light bow, which Corrin mirrors. "You're improving at a startlingly fast pace. I thought I had you beaten with my ninja technique."

Corrin grins and drops the sword, lifting a handful of her cape to wipe off the thin sheet of perspiration coating her face and damping her long tresses.

"I got lucky. I still have a long way to go."

Silas pushes himself off the tree trunk, mischievous mirth sparkling in his azure eyes as he approaches his liege and fellow retainer. "Ha! It was time someone knocked you off your high horse, Kaze!"

Kaze rolls his eyes, though his fond smile never falters. "So says the cavalier. How many times have you fallen off your mount since we began training together? I'm afraid even I cannot remember such a high amount."

Silas's easy going grin instantly fades and his face darkens.

" _Alright, fine_ , twenty two." He says sullenly. "There is no need to rub it in my face."

Kaze shrugs, features schooled in his usual angelic and stoic demeanor, although Corrin can swear she sees a mischievous tinge sparkle in his eyes. "Just making sure you don't forget."

"Ugghh, Corrin, please, kick his ass again!"

She laughs and moves to pick the fallen sword. "That was a fluke more than anything else. I still need to polish my skills far more if I want to keep up with the lot of you."

Silas opens his mouth, probably to protest, but then his eyes fall past Corrin's form and his jaw snaps closed. At the same time, a clapping noise startles Corrin out of her skin. She whirls around, brandishing the two props as though they are real swords, even if she's fully aware they might as well be simple sticks in terms of utility in an actual battle. But it's fine, just as long as she manages to give the others enough time to escape...

She almost drops them when she finds herself face to face with none other than Ryoma.

"Ryoma! I mean - Your Highness."

She sweeps into a low bow just as Kaze and Silas do the same. Ryoma chuckles and waves a hand.

"There is no need for such formalities when we're in private like this. We're family, after all."

The trio tentatively raises to a standing position. Corrin is the first to recover from the shock. She notices he's wearing his formal royal attire and armor, but the headpiece is nowhere to be seen. He looks a lot more approachable without the dragon horns and chin armor, even though there is just no handling that mass of spiky hair.

As always, she's dying to know whether those spikes feel as pointy as they look like, but as always she lacks the courage to ask.

"I thought you and Takumi were still at the summit in Izumo! When did you come back?"

"Just now, as a matter of fact," Ryoma replies, and this time she hears the underlying exhaustion in his voice. Had the trip gone so bad? She fails to see why else he would sound so tired. "I've sent Takumi ahead, but I admit I was hoping to cross paths with you. There's something I have to tell you."

Corrin's smile freezes. There is something about the way Ryoma is looking at her that makes her skin crawl. She recalls the last time he has regarded her like that, half pitying and half sad: it was at the Bottomless Canyon, right before she was exiled from Nohr.

Just like then, she catches herself wondering if he knows more than he lets on.

Behind her, Silas fidgets, catching both royals' attention.

"We… we're going back to town for a few errands we've just remembered. With your permission."

Oh yeah, of course. They want to give her and Ryoma privacy. She nods stiffly, feeling like her jaw is glued together. She tries to smile, but it feels all kinds of wrong, and she soon gives up on trying altogether. Silas and Kaze dutifully disappear across the gardens.

Ryoma waits until their backs are little more than a couple of blurred spots in the far off distance before speaking again. "You fought well against Kaze. Startingly well for someone who isn't well acquainted with dealing with ninja skills and techniques."

"He did beat me countless times. It was time I learned something."

Ryoma hums absently, his eyes lingering on the practice swords Corrin is still holding. He holds out his hand. "We never really sparred, the two of us, did we?"

Corrin blinks, a little disconcerted. She thinks they may have crossed blades a few times, but since they were enemies back then, she doubts it's what he has in mind. "I… don't think so? But-?"

He smiles and gestures to take a sword for himself. After a moment of hesitation Corrin hands it to him, and he takes it, stepping back. When he has put enough distance between them, he drops into a defensive stance.

"Come on, show me what you've got, little sister."

_"Don't hold anything back, little princess."_

Corrin bites her lip, so hard her peculiarly pointy canine pierces through the flesh of her lower lip and the taste of iron burns her tongue. Her fist clenches around the practice sword's hilt, and she would not be surprised to find her hand has shifted to dragon claws and splintered the hard carved wood.

Her stomach lurches as memories struggle with reality and black armor turns bright red, blonde curls shift into dark brown spikes.

It feels so, so _wrong_.

But Ryoma waits patiently, a fond grin of brotherly affection curling his lips upward, and she doesn't have it in him to deny her this moment of bonding he has probably being anticipating for longer than a decade. She too shifts, rises to her full height, and takes her favorite battle stance, her free arm lifted in front of her as though holding up a non-existent shield.

And so it begins, a dance she knows the steps of, but the execution is different. She lunges forward, expects her blade to ricochet back as it impacts on her brother's and deals no damage at all, but instead she once again meets only air as Ryoma deftly dodges and strikes back at lightning speed. She takes the blow in her ribs and she's rather certain she wouldn't have gotten away with only a few bruises had she not worn her silver armor.

She stumbles backwards, her breath cut short, but soon enough she gathers her strength back and pushes back against Ryoma.

And again.

And again.

And _again_.

It all comes to an end when eventually Ryoma decides to take mercy on her after sending her flying for the tenth time in a row and finally drops his sword.

"I can see what Kaze means. You adapt and learn quickly, and your technique is rather flexible. Whoever trained you really knew what they were doing."

Corrin, her face flushed and hair plastered to her cheeks from sweat, has to plant her sword to the ground to prop herself back up on her feet. Ryoma, on the other hand, has hardly broken a sweat. Now she most definitely understands Takumi's frustrations. Who _wouldn't_ develop an awful inferiority complex growing up in Ryoma's shadow, after all?

"Thanks," she pants, combing a hand through her hair to push it back from her face. It's all sticky and sweat-slicked. She pulls a face as she longs acutely for a scented bath. "Xander was the one who trained me. Despite his growing duties and responsibilities, he always managed to make time for me, one way or another. He… he kept saying I was a natural, although I never won once against him. And he _always_ held back so much."

She had intended to keep her tone light and easygoing, to prove that she is fine with talking about Nohr and her Nohrian family - for she is not stupid, she actually has noticed how nobody ever went as far as mentioning them in front of her - but she inwardly cringes when she finds herself trailing off, the nostalgia and melancholy and the last burning embers of outrage mixing together in a bittersweet taste. She swallows thickly.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I said too much. The past is in the past, after all. Right?"

But Ryoma regards her again with that face of stoic resignation that doesn't fit him at all.

"You care a great deal about him, don't you?"

Corrin starts so violently that the practice sword does actually slip from her grasp and falls to the grassy terrain with a soft clatter. She blinks, uncertain whether she has heard correctly, whether he's joking or not. He and Hinoka utterly detest talking about the Nohrian royal family even to this day. To think Ryoma, of all people, would accept that he has to share Corrin's affections with them is definitely a surprise. A pleasant one, perhaps, but a surprise nonetheless.

"... Yes," she eventually manages to get out, crossing her arms protectively across her chest, an habit she never really grew out of since her childhood days. She hates it. It shows weakness. "As well as I care for Camilla and you and all the others. I consider all of you my beloved family."

She means it, of course, every word, and accompanies them with the brightest smile she can offer to him. In response, his face darkens.

"I see. But he holds a special place in your heart."

Her cheerful facade falls apart as Ryoma's words pierce her like arrows of ice. Her heart, treacherous and twisted, thunders mockingly in her ears.

"I… I don't understand what you mean…?"

Ryoma narrows his eyes. Then he heaves a sigh and extends a hand to her. Hesitatingly, as though scared of the truth he's handing to her, she takes it.

"Come with me," he says as he starts walking towards the cherry trees. "Let's walk a little bit."

She lets him lead her through the eerily silent gardens. The setting sun at the horizon paints the sky and the tips of the blooming trees a deep shade of red and purple. It won't take long before night falls over Hoshido, and it will look a little bit like Nohr, if only for a handful of fleeting hours.

Nighttime has quickly become her favorite moment of the day.

They walk, in total silence, side by side in body but miles and miles apart in spirit. Sometimes she would steal a glance at her brother, only to find him staring back intently, daring her to speak out loud. She never does.

Again, he's the one that takes the reins of the conversation. He steers her gently towards the most magnificent cherry tree, the one - she's been told by Hinoka and Takumi - Mikoto used to favor and that gave Sakura her name. A steady stream of white-pink petals flutter down, dancing in the soft breeze with incomparable grace. A few entangle in Corrin's hair, the color so similar that it's nearly impossible to tell them apart.

"Corrin. Always remember that, no matter what happens from now on, Hoshido will be your home, and never a cell. I am your brother, first and foremost, and as much as it pains me the idea to let you go where I cannot follow, I refuse to be your prison guard."

Corrin throws him a bewildered look. "What are you saying? I love staying here, it's-"

Ryoma shakes his head, dislodging the little pile of petals that had come to rest atop his hairdo. "Let me finish, little sister. It's important that you understand, if you have the health of Nohr's Crown Prince at heart."

He doesn't need to say anything else. All cheerful pretenses are off, all the fake smiles shatter, the innocent girl fades away only to be replaced by a warrior ready to fight tooth and nail for what they hold dear.

He continues before she can interrupt him again.

"By telling you this, I'm breaking a vow to a man I've come to deeply respect over the brief, albeit meaningful, time we fought together. Normally I wouldn't be entertaining such thoughts, but as your brother, I can't allow you to go through the pain and shame of being kept ignorant until it's too late."

Corrin's eyes are wide, thoughts racing and tumbling all over each other as she struggles to make heads or tails of Ryoma's speech. But one thing she has already understood: there's trouble in Nohr.

And really, that's all she cares about.

"What do you mean?" She snaps quite rudely, almost demanding. She would grimace and apologize if only she wasn't fighting so hard to keep a leveled head and allow Ryoma to explain the full situation. Ryoma heaves a deep, exhausted sigh.

"The real reason you were so dramatically exiled from Nohr is that there is a civil war about to explode. A usurper named Iago took the throne in the sudden disappearance of King Garon and all his heirs, plunging the kingdom into the darkest and most violent era it ever knew. Rebellions spark and are quelled in blood every day."

Corrin has gone utterly silent, completely frozen from the shock. Her mind feels numb as Ryoma unravels all these uncomfortable truths - Iago? She was certain he had perished in that battle at the Canyon!! How did he survive! - and struggles to make it concile with the peaceful and idyllic life she's been living here in Hoshido, yet again protected and sheltered by Xander pulling strings in the shadow. She has the feeling she should be far more upset at Ryoma for withholding this vital piece of information from her for so long than she is. At this moment, she only cares that now she knows and she can _do_ something about it.

"Xander and the others won't allow it," she whispers, not entirely sure herself whether she is talking to Ryoma or herself. "They will fight him off."

"Yes. I think their plan is to rally the scattered rebels to form a united front and chase off the usurper. According to my spies, they have made Cheve their fort in Nohr's land for the time being. But their forces are vastly outnumbered, Corrin," he adds when she looks up, full of hope she can't afford to have. "They may be skilled soldiers and strategists, but there always comes a point sheer numbers can sweep the victory for themselves, no matter how undeservingly."

"Then we should help!!" She nearly yells, hands untangling and flying about, itching to dig into something, possibly flesh. She settles to tangle them in her wild curls. "We need to send out our troops and-"

"I can't, Corrin," Ryoma cuts her off, and he looks so upset and apologetic that she believes it. "This is not Hoshido's battle to fight. I cannot ask my men and women to die for the former enemy, and Nohr can't afford to rely on external forces to win its people back. I'm sure you understand this."

She does, but that doesn't mean she accepts it. She starts pacing around furiously, occasionally tugging on her hair.

"But then what can I do?! I can't stay here sipping tea while they get slaughtered!!"

There is a beat of silence. Pain and anguish contort Ryoma's youthful features, as though he knows what he is about to propose will undoubtedly bring an immeasurable amount of pain to himself. She'd feel guilty for subjecting him to such sorrow were she not so distressed, wondering every second where Xander and the others were, if they were safe, if they were injured or even dea-

"There is something you can do."

And with that, he snaps his fingers. Out of thin air, Kagero conjures herself into existence with the faintest pop. She's carrying a long and broad scabbard in her hands, one that Corrin recognizes immediately.

"The Yato!"

Kagero and Ryoma smile wryly as Corrin grabs the Yato and pulls the jagged blade out of its sheath. The sword hums and thrums happily the moment Corrin's gloved hand curls around the hilt and tugs, as though happy to be finally joined to its master once again.

"I had Sakura undo the seals for me." Ryoma explains the silent question in Corrin's eyes with a smile. Then his expression sobers up as his attention falls back to the legendary sword that belongs to neither Nohr nor Hoshido. "Legend says the bearer of the Yato will bring our world to peace. Perhaps, its mission is not over just yet."

Corrin traces the four gems lining along the blade, gleaming cheerfully in the rapidly darkening sunset. One for each of its beloved twins; Siegfried and Raijinto, Brynhildr and Fujin Yumi. All of them coming together and offering their power for a common goal, entwined together in a bond that shall never break.

Still, a thought crosses her mind, causing her newly found fire to stave off a little.

"I am banned from Nohr. You all heard him, Xander will have me killed if I dare to cross the border and appear in front of him again."

Ryoma arches an eyebrow, as though disbelievingly amused. "Corrin, he banned you to protect you in the first place. Knowing what we now do, I doubt he'd ever really consider that option. Besides, do you remember what were his exact words?"

Corrin frowns, straining her memory in hopes to see what Ryoma was driving at. Nevertheless, her memory of that awful day is spotty at best, and she falls short. She shakes her head, mildly ashamed.

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Then I'll refresh it for you. He said _'As king of Nohr, I hereby decree thee, Corrin of Valla, and your retainers guilty of high treason against the Crown, and as such sentence you to exile from the entirety of Nohr's territory for the foreseeable future'_."

Silence falls for an unbearable moment. Then it clicks.

"He's not King. Not yet."

"Thus making the whole sentence invalid," Kagero pipes into the conversation. "A clever way to scare you off without any real consequence."

"He also provided you with a loophole you could exploit later on, in case he never ascended to the throne and you wished to go back to Nohr once it settled down into the new reign." Ryoma follows suit, shaking his head. "I keep forgetting how little you know of court life and manners. It took nothing to make you fall for it."

Hook, line and sinker, Corrin thinks bitterly as the reality of the situation finally settles in and she finally processes that a) she's been agonizing over literally nothing, and she swears she's going to rip Xander a new one for that, and b) Xander, Camilla, Leo and Elise are in danger.

A decision is taken before the words have time to morph into a proper sentence. Apparently Ryoma knows it, because he flashes her that sad smile again and places a hand over her shoulder.

"The choice that lies ahead is yours alone, and we will all support you at the best of our abilities. The only thing I ask is for you to stay just enough to say goodbye and to visit, from time to time."

That's just too much. Before she can think twice about it, she has already leapt and enveloped Ryoma's waist in a tight hug, eliciting a startled cry out of Kagero and a soft sound out of Ryoma. Corrin notices from the corner of her eye Ryoma wildly gesturing Kagero not to attack, but she can't care less.

"Thank you," she sobs into his royal haori, "you're the best big brother I could ever ask for."

His hand as it cradles the back of her head and gently presses closer to him, protecting her, shielding her, is warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, Ryoma the exposition-dump man. You gotta love when such a high-standing character is used as the author's proxy to explain stuff to the MC. I'm sorry Ryoma, I'll make it up to you!!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Especially regarding the dialogue! As I'm not a native English speaker I have to admit I find it a little hard to balance the royals' dialogue, and it always ends up sounding a little stiff to me. Feel free to leave tips and criticism if you feel like! I accept all kinds of reviews as long as they're worded politely.
> 
> Ty for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was way faster than I thought. I just... had a lot of fun with it, I suppose. That, and I can't wait to get to next chapter.

She’s running, her bare soles hammering like a war drum against the polished wooden floors and tatami mats of Castle Shirasagi as she her body from hallway to hallway and her heart chases the dying sun in the West. Many of the servants who happen to be in her way curl their nose in displeasure and disappointment, lean in to whisper something to each other as they eye the princess that belongs to neither here nor there, an uncouth child who has nothing of her mother’s grace and elegance.

Let them gossip. See if she cares. There is no space in Corrin’s mind for inconsequential trivialities like a maid’s opinion. At the moment, her mind couldn’t be any farther from Hoshido.

* * *

”Our neighboring tribes want to move war soon,” Ryoma says, as they hurry back to the Castle to arrange for her immediate departure. ”They don’t acknowledge Iago’s reign, obviously. The Chieftain of the Fire Tribe claims it’s only a matter of time before Iago’s greedy eyes set on Hoshido and its associated territory. He wants to make use of the recent unstir and strike Nohr down - permanently - before that happens.” 

It doesn’t take a genius to deduce what would be left of Nohr if the Flame Tribe had its way. She shudders at the thought of so much more blood, of soldiers and citizens alike, to be shed. How many lives must be claimed in the name of justice for peace to finally settle down and cradle this world?

“That’s insane! Too many innocent Nohrians would die in such an operation, and the whole country would fall apart! We can’t allow it!”

Ryoma’s eyes harden; for a moment Corrin fears he might be considering attacking Nohr now that it’s weak. When the peace treaty between the two royal families was agreed to, nobody had thought of what would happen if either family found themselves unable to ascend to the throne instantly.

Or at least, Corrin most definitely did not stop to consider that scenario for a second. She bets Xander and Ryoma did. They must have stayed quiet to appease her, give her some sense of accomplishment. Her cheeks burn in shame as she fully realizes how naive and childish she’d been, taking it whole at face value and never analyzing the finer nuances of the situation.

“Indeed,” he eventually says, slowly, pondering and choosing carefully every word. Corrin hangs from his lips, desperate for a sign of assistance that she knows he can’t really give. “Had this scenario presented itself a few months ago, I am not ashamed to say I would have given it no second thought and agreed to it. But now, knowing what I now know, I can’t bring myself to unleash a full blown attack on Nohr at this moment.”

“So that means-” she begins and then trails off, hoping against hope to be interpreting Ryoma’s words correctly. This whole ordeal is starting to really weigh on her confidence in her comprehending skills. She has always known she was no genius in all the intrigue that naturally comes with the court, but she didn’t think she was so tragically bad.

He nods, and his serious demeanor shifts ever so slightly as a small smirk full of mischievous camaraderie pops out. “The Fire Tribe, despite their proverbial fiery temper, will not dare to attack Nohr without Hoshido’s support, both financial and military. I will try to stall and buy you more time.”

They are about to reach the Castle’s main gateway. The soft rustling sound of the stream that runs around the castle and across the gardens provides a soothing accompaniment to the cherry petals dancing into the wind, only occasionally interrupted by a couple of owls and nightingales piping up every so often. The silhouette of the castle, with its snow white marble walls and gold fixtures and statues, paints a breathtaking picture. She wishes she could somehow sear this image, the very embodiment of idyllic peace, in the forefront of her mind.

She knows she’s going to miss life at Castle Shirasagi, that goes without saying. She will undoubtedly long to walk through the lively town in the near future, when blood and death will be her only companions. She will miss her siblings, most importantly, spending time with them as to make up for all the years of separation they were forced to go through; by the gods, she’ll miss even Takumi’s pointed comments and sarcastic remarks. If that doesn’t speak volumes of how little she wishes to part - potentially forever - with her Hoshidan family, she doesn’t know what does.

If only there was a way to have both families at her side at the same time, that would make her the happiest lady alive. But even Corrin, naive and sheltered as she may be, is not quite a dreamer to hold the slightest hope of that being possible. There are times a choice is simply unavoidable.

And she’s already made her choice. She’s not backing down from it.

"How much?"

She's almost afraid to ask. Ryoma sighs and shakes his head.

"A month, give or take. Rinkah and I will try to bargain for two at the best of our possibilities, but I can't promise you anything."

She nods absently, her mind already sifting through the possibilities, forming a plan, drawing a route on the world map in her brain. She supposes she can consider herself blessed for having Ryoma’s support to begin with. She shudders at the thought of what would happen if that weren’t the case.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

"We are family, and nothing will ever change that.” He says with a somewhat forlorn smile that has Corrin’s heart squeeze painfully in guilt and genuine affection in equal parts. She would hug him again if they weren’t so close to the entrance to the castle, and in such open sight. “Gather your belongings and retainers and then meet me at the royal stables. I’ll have an escorting party ready for you immediately. We don’t have a moment to waste.” 

* * *

A month. Two, if it’s true that Corrin has the devil’s own luck and Ryoma, by some divine miracle, manages to strong-arm the Fire Tribe into waiting. That’s all she has to make things right and assure that peace is maintained, that both her families are saved.

It’s not much; not at all, considering that reaching Nohr alone will take days, _weeks_ , even if she left Shirasagi Castle this very same moment.

Heart hammering madly against her ribs, an implacable clock ticking away time as every precious second trickles away from her grasp, Corrin's feet fly up the stairs, two steps at a time. The wide white halls that used to appear so light and comforting until a few hours ago now feel heavy and constricting, oppressing even as they bear down on her like a gilded cage, and she struggles to breathe. She wants to get out. She _has_ to get out.

She's none too gentle rips the sliding door to her personal quarters open, barely flinching when the delicate fixture hits the opposing wall with such force it's nearly dislodged from the thin rails.

She has just got past the threshold when she realizes her room is not as empty as she first surmised. She blinks and skids to a rather abrupt halt.

"Azura…?"

Indeed, the Vallite princess is sitting there, legs folded neatly under her as she kneels on the light tatami mat, hands delicately resting on her lap, evidently lost in thought. The dark blue and silver of her yukata contrasts pleasantly with the light azure of her hair as it flows, light and free of all restrictions, in long waves past her shoulders and waist and pools on the floor behind her. The faint silver glow of the moon outside filters through the open blinders and bounces off Azura’s hair and skin, engulfing her in an ethereal halo. Just like the first time she ever laid eyes on the older princess, back at the lake, Corrin can’t help but feel mesmerized at the sight. Azura’s otherworldly beauty is simply breathtaking.

Azura starts ever so slightly at the racket Corrin causes, and she turns slowly towards her.

“Oh, Corrin,” Azura says, sweet and melodious as a nightingale. With a rustling sound of fine silks, she raises herself to a standing position. The small smile gracing her lips is sweet and affectionate, and perhaps a little sad. She must know.

"How-"

"Takumi told us everything," Azura correctly anticipates Corrin's incoming question with no effort in the slightest. "I believe Ryoma and the others are waiting for you at the stables, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are…"

She wants to say more, to make Azura understand the reasons behind her choice, but the words lodge themselves squarely at the back of her mouth, forming a massive lump that threatens to suffocate her. Suddenly, she can't bear to sustain Azura's unflinching gaze anymore, deciding instead to develop a sudden interest in the elaborate embroidery work and craftsmanship of the tatami mats.

"It's alright, Corrin. I knew you would decide to leave as soon as I heard the news. We all did."

Azura spins on her heels and pads to the open window, giving her back to Corrin. Corrin flinches.

"I can't sit and do nothing while they fight for their country and their lives. I just… couldn't forgive myself if any of them ends up injured or worse while I'm here, lazing around and basking in the sunlight. I can't stand it, Azura."

Corrin's voice cracks on her cousin's name, pleading, begging for understanding. When she dares to look up, she finds Azura half turned back towards her, mildly confused.

"I know, Corrin. I wasn't criticizing you for wanting to help your loved ones in their time of need. On the contrary, as a matter of fact," Azura breaks into a wider, warmer smile and walks back to Corrin, leaning down to take her gloved hand and wrapping it in her own. "I have nothing but admiration for your bravery. Perhaps I even envy you a little. It seems like I can't quite bring myself to be as selfless as you are."

Corrin smiles and gives Azura's hand a gentle squeeze. "Nobody would ever blame you for choosing Hoshido over Nohr. I'm sure even Xander and the others would understand. I definitely do."

Azura disentangles herself with a light chuckle. "Of course you would. Are you even physically able to hold a grudge to begin with?"

Despite herself, Corrin laughs. If there is anything she acutely regrets is the fact that she is going to miss Azura occasional bouts of dry humor and playful teasing. Ever since Anankos's fall she and Corrin have been working endlessly to break out of her shell and appear less aloof and detached, and the results were finally showing. Corrin will miss their friendly banter more than anything.

Slowly, as though as an afterthought, Azura brings her hands up to the nape of her neck.

"Here," she says as she rummages with something hidden beneath her cascading mass of hair and pulls a silver chain out of her neckline. "I want you to have this."

Arete's pendant.

Corrin gasps, taken aback. "Oh no, Azura, I can't accept this. It means too much to you."

She tries to take a step back, to put some distance, but Azura is quicker than she looks and in a moment she has grabbed Corrin's wrist once more, forcing her to take the only surviving piece of proof that Valla and Arete had existed at all.

"It's alright, really." Azura assures her with the tone Corrin has learned to associate to whenever Azura is trying to put up a brave front. It's just a little too strained to be believable. "You might need it more than I do."

"Azura-"

"Consider it a good luck charm," the older princess doesn't allow Corrin to retort, refusing to take the precious heirloom back everytime Corrin tries to place it back in her hand. "You'll return it to me in due time, when you come for a visit."

That's when Corrin understands what Azura is trying to tell her, and finally stops fighting. She cradles the piece of jewelry to her chest; the silver is pleasantly cool and heavy in her palm, the sapphire glints knowingly in the moonlight as unfathomable magic and mysterious powers of another world ripple through the metal, an ebb and flow that knows no end.

On instinct, she picks the open chain and lifts it up to her neck.

"Take care of it for me," Azura says, reaching behind Corrin and heaving the heavy silver curls on one of Corrin's shoulders to latch the two ends if the chain together. "And should you feel the urge to sing, do it. The pendant will react to the royal blood in your veins."

Corrin traces a finger against wavy patterns carved into the silver. "I don't know the lyrics."

"Your heart will know."

The chain finally locks in place. Corrin delicately slips the pendant underneath her armor. She never realized how similar the two items were. No doubt they were carved off the same Vallite silver. The magic imbued into the pendant thrums soothingly, sings a lullaby tune, against her ribcage. It's a slow, repetitive rhythm, like waves sloshing against the shore. She already feels entranced, all her storming thoughts and worries somewhat appeased just by holding the piece of jewelry close, her mind clearer. Azura takes a step back.

"But be careful. This power comes with a price. It’ll be up to you to decide whether it will be worth the cost."

"Understood," Corrin grins confidently, desperate to dispel the sudden worry clouding Azura's finely chiselled features. "I'll use it wisely, I promise."

Azura stays quiet for a long, long moment, her amber eyes sizing Corrin up, seeing through every cell of her being, expression utterly unreadable. Corrin struggles to stay still and not squirm. Eventually, the songstress smiles again, bittersweet.

“Your mother would have been proud.” she says as she reaches out to tuck a rebellious strand of Corrin’s hair behind her pointed earshell. Corrin feels her cheeks grow warm.

“Do you really think so?”

Corrin hates herself for the childish hope filtering through her voice, for the desperate need for reassurance she can’t quite stamp out of herself. The truth is, thoughts of her late mother have been mingling with her plans to reach Nohr since Ryoma left for the stables, whispering in her ears all the reasons why she _shouldn’t_ head back to Nohr. The thought that she might be disappointing her mother makes her stomach churn in disgust.

She wonders if some of her innermost thoughts and doubts show on her face despite her best efforts to keep them concealed, because Azura’s smile grows warmer and impossibly fond as she nods. “Of course. Mikoto was a ruler who abhorred unnecessary violence and bloodshed, but she would always be the first one to fight in the name of justice and peace. Surely it would fill her with pride to the brim to know her daughter shares her passion and beliefs.”

“Mother didn’t exactly like Nohr. Understandably enough.”

“She didn’t like _Garon_ , perhaps,” Azura corrects her, gently but firmly at the same time. “I suppose he reminded her too much of Anankos’s wretched ways, and now we know why. But I don’t see her outwardly denying her help towards who helped bringing Anankos’s reign of terror to an end. You can rest assured, Corrin, Mikoto would have applauded your bravery and spurred you to fight for what you think is right, like she used to.”

It feels like the air is getting fresher, lighter, as with every comforting word Azura dispels a little more of the weight that has been pressing down on Corrin’s heart for what feels like an eternity and she can finally stand again, she can breathe again. With short, precise strokes, Azura paints a picture of Mikoto Corrin can see the pieces of herself within, gives life to a memory that has started to fade way too soon. Corrin’s heart swells, and her eyes burn at the corners. She wipes at them, unsurprised to find the fabric of her gloves wet and darkened when she lets her hand fall back to her side.

“Thank you Azura. I really needed it.”

“I know,” Azura says, cocking her head slightly to the side, her smile a little lopsided, showing her perfect whites. “I’m well acquainted with what it means to feel alone and lost in regret and longing. I don’t want you to go through the same, even if it means our ways must diverge for a little while.”

Azura makes it just in time to spread her arms wide open before Corrin has her enveloped in a tight embrace. Corrin feels the soft rumble of her laughter roll against her ear as she presses herself tightly against Azura’s chest.

“I’ll visit soon, I promise.”

Azura chuckles again, and Corrin decides against mentioning the single drop of water that hits the back of her neck, eliciting goosebumps as it trails down her nape and gets lost in her silver tresses.

“I know. I trust you.”

* * *

Laslow is not sure whether he likes Cheve.

The town in itself isn’t too bad, all things considered. Just a little bland, perhaps, with the overflowing abundance of military buildings and roads that follow a rigid grid structure, strict and inflexible like a general bellowing orders to the soldiers that dare to walk the streets.

Maybe that’s the problem, he thinks as he paces lazily around, not paying attention to where he’s going as his nimble feet carry him towards the arena of their own accord, following the path - right at the first turn, then left, left again and all straight from there on, impossible to miss - that he has been walking endlessly for days on end.

Cheve has no curves, no winding roads, no real pubs or taverns where people can get lost and find themselves again. All lines and sharp corners, no grace whatsoever, no space for the people to live, only straight roads for soldiers who have no time to waste to march on. It’s straightforward, no nonsense allowed.

Mother would absolutely hate Cheve, that’s for sure.

He scoffs into the setting night, earning himself a fierce scowl from the city guards passing by. Quite understandably, it’s clear a few days and a wary handshake aren’t really enough to really seal an alliance built on shaky grounds, at best. He shrugs and plasters his usual bright smile on his face - there’s a young lady among them who looks a lot like Kjelle, even the scowl is the same - as he breezes past them and enters the arena. If Selena were here, she’d probably slap him.

But she’s not. She’s out accompanying Camilla all the way to Dia to gather more allies, just as Odin is following Leo to Runesworth town, in a much similar quest. Laslow wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it out loud, but he actually does miss Odin’s boisterous nonsense and Selena’s harsh attitude. They might be loud and obnoxious and a little weird - _especially_ Odin - but they sure know how to make the best out of a shitty situation and have some fun. The nights are especially lonesome and quiet without them around.

Despite the very late hour, the arena is lit, making the lone figure busy swinging at the empty air fairly obvious, despite his attempts to keep himself concealed to external eye in the shade. Even without his suit of armor, still stationed at the blacksmith's workshop to be repaired, his profile is too imposing to go by unnoticed. Laslow sighs quietly and crouches to grab a discarded practice sword someone was lazy enough to leave lying around, and then steps on the arena’s ground, making a beeline for the practicing, oblivious man.

“You shouldn’t overexert yourself like this, milord,” he says when he’s close enough to know the man can hear him. “Your wounds aren’t fully healed just yet.”

The Crown Prince stops in the middle of a wide swing against his invisible opponent and straightens up, sword drooping low until the blunt tip grazes the sandy floor. He scowls deeply at Laslow, and if Laslow were any lesser man than he is he would already be running for the hills to put as much distance as he can between him and the prince. As it stands, though, Laslow is still Laslow - or should he say, Laslow is still Inigo. Ha! That’s a good one, he’ll have to pop that to Selena next time he sees her. She’s gonna be soo annoyed - and all he notices is the faintest blush tinging his Lord’s cheeks and ears a light pink.

“I’m far from being incapacitated, Laslow. I can’t afford to waste any more time on bedrest.”

Laslow is tempted to roll his eyes. Lord Xander _never_ wastes time on bedrest, even when Lady Elise herself was the one to order it in the first place. Laslow has yet to see him actually lying down on a bed and sleeping more than the occasional two to four hours a night since they left the Bottomless Canyon, and even though he still takes good care of his wound where the spear sank in his flesh, that mad schedule hasn’t changed in the least. It goes without saying Lady Elise is _not_ happy with her older brother’s lack of care for his own health.

“Our defense plans are going smoothly and our drills are starting to show some results. We should take this time to rest and get ourselves back into shape for the upcoming battle.” he tries to argue, even though he knows fully well it’s only going to be a waste of time, as Lord Xander can be even more stubborn than Lucina when he sets his mind to it. Still, he cares for his liege, and it would hurt him to see Lady Elise shed any more tears after she changes her brother’s bandages and medicates the wound with the limited supplies she has. Normally, he’d say nobody who dares making Lady Elise cry deserves to live, but since the culprit is his own liege and employer, he’ll make an exception. Besides, Lord Xander’s untimely demise would probably make her cry the hardest, so that’s a no-no in any case.

Xander throws him a piercing glare. “Has Elise cajoled you into being my nurse, mayhaps? Is this an extremely ill advised attempt to get in her good graces?”

The mercenary flinches, but his dashing grin stays on. “Milord, you wound me deeply. I harbor nothing but respect and friendly affections to the youngest blossom of Nohr’s kingdom, and would never dare to sully the mere thought of her,” he says, purposely making a show of being wounded, with his free hand splayed wide over his chest and lightly doubling over to really sell the whole show. Passion and emotion are important in a truly engaging performance. “I’m acting and speaking of my own free will, as someone who genuinely cares for your well being. As your loyal retainer, but even more importantly, if I may dare say so, as your friend.”

He suddenly drops the act, relishing in the surprise breaking on his liege's ever so impassible face. It's somewhat satisfying to know he can cause the usually stone faced prince such vehement bouts of emotions, even if for nothing but a fleeting moment.

And indeed, the scowl takes its rightful place on the man's forehead, a second, heavier crown of pain etched deep into his flesh where the circlet of thorns Garon gifted him with can't reach. But this time, as Xander clicks his tongue and reaches up with his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, Laslow can tell there's less angry brooding and more shellshocked pain in the premature creases around his eyes, in the grimace pulling down the corner of his lip.

"Why are you here, Laslow?" He eventually hisses out, choking on the words as though each is a knife slicing his throat as they drag past his lips.

Laslow shrugs. "Can't have my liege harm himself before the big day, now, can I?"

Xander shakes his head in aggravation, splays his hand to massage at his temples. "No, Laslow, I mean… why are you _still_ here?"

As he says that, Xander eyes warily the satchel hanging at Laslow's hip, as though he knows exactly what it contains, the secret Laslow carries with him.

A coincidence, of course. Pure suggestion.

The magic stone feels heavier than ever.

Laslow laughs, but it comes off weak and unsteady. "Why? Have I been fired and I didn't notice?"

Xander doesn't acknowledge Laslow's poor attempts at lightening the mood and steer the conversation away from this dangerous topic. Laslow knows the prince never really bought into the made up story he fed him, of the lone boy hailing from a minuscule village in the mountains out of Nohr, seeking for fame and fortune. Still, like in a silent agreement, he never asked questions, never purposefully put Laslow and his pile of bullshit on the spotlight.

That is clearly going to change soon.

"You don't hail from Nohr," Xander says, so quiet that even in the silence of the night Laslow has to strain himself to hear him, eyes veiled and dark and unseeing, as though briefly forgetting Laslow is even here in the first place. "You have a loving family waiting for you back at home, eagerly anticipating the moment they can embrace you once again. Why in the world would you turn your back on them? What drives you to choose to stay here, to risk your life for a country you don't belong to and which has nothing to offer you?"

Laslow's mouth parts, disbelief stealing away any clever or witty retort he may have. In the many years he has served under the man's direct command, he had never witnessed the stalwart prince falter so wildly. Never he had thought he would witness the day the ever so perfect Crown Prince of Nohr would crack under the pressure.

The thought in itself is scary, but against all the odds Laslow feels lighter than before, less aware of the stone in his pocket. He knew staying was the best course of action.

"You and Nohr have offered me protection and a place to call home for many long years, my liege. It's only natural I return the favor."

Xander hums non committedly, studying his reflection in the dull metal of his bronze sword. His constantly brooding countenance often makes him appear older than he actually is, but as of now he looks positively _ancient_.

"You're a strange man, aren't you, Laslow?" The prince's pale lips curl in a mirthless smile that doesn't quite hide the bitterness in his eyes. "To think you have been blessed with such a good opportunity, and yet you're throwing it away so easily, only to gain more pain and suffering in return. It's illogical."

Laslow stiffens. He can take it when Selena hurls this argument at him, but he can't really dance around it when it's Xander the one who brings it up. His veiled accusation, even vaguely insulting, hits Laslow square in his chest like a sword being thrust through his heart.

"As your faithful retainer, it simply is my duty to keep serving you until you see fit. Or are you perhaps saying you would hightail it yourself, were you in my position?"

Bold, way too bold. In normal circumstances he would have never responded in such ill-mannered ways to his Lord and Crown Prince, but the gloominess of the situation, the despair and the prolonged lack of the only two people who understand the inner struggle he goes through everyday under his smile are starting to really wear him down, causing his filters to blow up.

He expects a reprimand, perhaps even physical punishment for this slight.

The prince laughs.

"Would you think any less of me, if I were to say yes?"

The self-loathing is blatant. Laslow feels a dull ache around his chest area.

"No, I would not."

“Hm,” Xander scoffs, “But you should.”

There is a beat of silence. The chilly breeze grows in intensity, slithering through Xander’s gold curls and Laslow’s loose shirt, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Xander catches his tremor and grins, somewhat amused despite everything. He shifts and points the tip of the sword at Laslow’s chin.

“Care for a spar?”

It’s cold and he’s really in the mood for it, but it’s not like Laslow can say no, now, can he? He flashes his liege a bright smile that tastes sour on his lips.

“Of course. Never let it be known I don’t offer myself for a brutal beatdown for my liege’s sake.”

“Oh, please, Laslow.” Xander rolls his eyes as Laslow puts some distance between them, bracing himself for the bruises that will undoubtedly bloom across his skin by the time morning rolls around. “We are alone. At last, you can go all out without worry.”

Laslow chuckles as he takes his stance. “No more holding back, then? Is that an order?”

He nearly misses Xander charging at him, and he only has his quick reflexes to thank when he throws himself to the left, just in time to step out of the dull sword’s path. He spins on his feet, slashing back only for his own sword to be parried off with ease.

Xander grins. “Just a friendly request.”

* * *

“You know, Ryoma,” Corrin says, blinking owlishly at the sight in front of her. “When you said ‘escorting party’, I have to admit this is not exactly what I was expecting.”

Two dozens mounts, between Pegasi and Kinshi, are aligned in front of her, their white and gold plumage gleaming softly in the lights lining the outside of the stables. Her siblings and retainers are already hoisting the supplies they gathered on the animals' backs.

"Hmm, I kind of see your point," Ryoma says, scratching his chin in contemplation as he oversees the last preparations. "I'm afraid we couldn't arrange for a larger squad with such short time."

"That's not… oh well, it doesn't matter." She eventually decides to let go of the issue. So what if half of the royal Hoshidan sky force, the most elite of the elite fliers in the whole of Hoshido, are to accompany her to Nohr, after all?

At least she knows for sure they're going to go fast.

Ryoma smiles as though he knows exactly what it's going through her mind. "You are a princess of Hoshido. This is the bare minimum for someone of your station."

Corrin chuckles and shakes her head, disbelieving, before setting out to help out loading the beasts and get ready. Soon enough, Felicia is comfortably sitting behind Subaki, her arms coiled around his waist as to prevent herself from falling, even if they have yet to take to the air, Silas is roughly hauled up on Reina's kinshi and both Jakob and Kaze are politely accommodated on two other pegasi. She's the only one who is left.

As she finishes checking for the last time that she has everything and all is in order, she lets out a soft sigh. As always, goodbyes are not her best suit. She rolls up the scroll and stuffs it into her small pouch, then turns to face her siblings.

"Everyone," she starts, taking a deep breath to stave off the bitterness cloying her mouth and hindering her tongue. "Thank you so much. I'll miss you all terribly."

"And we will too, dear sister." Ryoma says, smiling fondly down at her as though he can't be any prouder of her than he is. "But I have faith that we'll see each other again very soon."

Corrin nods vehemently. "Yes, I'm sure of it."

Sakura suddenly sniffles, catching everyone's attention. Takumi rolls his eyes and looks away, but Corrin grins widely as Sakura bounds over and wraps her in a tight embrace that nearly knocks the wind out of Corrin. Ryoma, Hinoka and Azura laugh quietly.

"Don't worry, Sakura," She whispers in the crying girl's ear as she pats gently her shoulder and rubs soothing circles in her back. "Everything will be just fine, I promise."

Gently, she pries Sakura's lean arms off her, and Sakura takes a step back, her doll-like face glistening with streaming tears.

"I'll be p-praying for your safety," Sakura says, suddenly bashful as she ducks her head down, peering up at Corrin through her cherry-colored bangs. "All of you."

Corrin's heart soars. She hopes she'll manage to bring Elise with her the next time she visits Castle Shirasagi. "Thank you. I'll let everyone know."

Sakura grins and nods. At the same time, Takumi scoffs and stalks determinedly up to her. She never realized they were so close in height. Strange, since Leo is far taller than she is.

She has to fight off a laugh as the mental image of Leo staring down at Takumi flashes through her mind. Takumi will definitely not be pleased.

"Tell Leo-"

" _Takumi._ " Ryoma calls in a warning tone. Takumi clicks his tongue in annoyance.

"Fine, I get it. Tell _Prince_ Leo that if he wants to get his Queen back he has to come all the way over here and beat me at shogi. So he's not allowed to die until then."

"Aww, Takumi," Hinoka coos teasingly, "so you _do_ care, you sweetie."

Takumi flushes so bright Corrin is quite sure he's a step away from self-combustion. "Shut up!! I don't care! Why would I care?! That doesn't make any sense!!"

"Hmm, whatever makes you sleep at night."

" _Hinoka, you-!!_ "

Corrin laughs. Gods, she'll miss them all so much. No matter what, she's going to leave a piece of her heart in this sunkissed place, and there's a part of her that wishes she could just not leave.

Her eyes meet Azura's. It's time to go.

"Thank you everyone. I'll carry you in my heart forever. But now I must go."

She makes to turn and head to the nearest sky knight in sight, but all of a sudden a vice like grip has latched itself on her arm, steering her towards the most beautiful Pegasus of the bunch, and the only one who carries the Hoshidan banner with the royal insignia.

"You're riding with me," Hinoka says confidently, ignoring Corrin's surprise. She mounts swiftly, then extends a hand to help Corrin up as well.

"Hinoka, you don't have to-"

"It's alright." Hinoka leans down to grab Corrin's arm and nearly dislodges her shoulder out of its socket as she pulls Corrin up, until the younger princess simply has to comply and climb up the animal's feathery back to avoid a broken arm. "It's the least I can do. Besides," she adds with a little wink as Corrin adjusts herself behind her and wraps her arms awkwardly around Hinoka's waist. "I always wanted to take you flying."

"Go now," Ryoma says, approaching the two princesses. "And may the gods assist your endeavors. We'll be waiting for your safe return."

Both Hinoka and Corrin nod in agreement. Hinoka snaps the reins of the pegasus, causing it to rear back on its hind legs and whinny loudly as it spreads its wings wide open and soars into the air. Soon enough, all the other pegasi and kinshi follow suit, white streaks of feathers and leather taking to the Hoshidan sky like falling stars, the green Hoshidan lands growing smaller and smaller as they gain height and speed, until Castle Shirasagi looks like a toy model and the night sky stretches without end past the mountains.

As Hinoka takes the lead, Corrin holds on to her for dear life, terrified and sad to be leaving part of her family behind, but amongst it all, a twinge of gleeful excitement still makes itself noticed.

She's going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Platonic bonding time for Corrin-Azura and Xander-Laslow. I admit I do ship them, but this story is not about that, so they're gonna stay just friends. We stan precious non romantic friendships in this house.
> 
> The ending is a little messy, I know. I can't write dialogue for a wide cast, I keep losing track of all the characters in the scene. I hope it's readable enough.
> 
> On the side, Idk if anyone cares, but I tend to picture Corrin with her Warriors's design in this fic. Idk why, I just... Like it more? Maybe. Who knows.
> 
> Feel free to let me know your thoughts if you feel like it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for violence, blood and a bit of gore.

Time ticks and flows, trickles by like the waters of a river go by, sometimes so slow it seems to stagnate and grow stale, sometimes so fast it’s impossible to resist and not to get overwhelmed, swept away by the raging tides when they eventually hit and break the peaceful, comforting lull of the waves.

Minutes melt into hours, hours into days. Every hour is ticked by the neverending drills, the many squabbles between the Nohrian and Chevois soldiers, the nightly sparring sessions Xander and Laslow have taken to engage. A routine, repetitive and unchanging. Xander wishes it could stay like this forever, uncaring of morrow’s incoming horrors.

_(“Big brother! You’re back!” She says with a beaming smile that can easily put the sun to shame, her slender arms warm as they coil around his waist and pull him in, and by gods what wouldn't he give to be able to stop time, have this moment last._

_He wraps an arm across her shoulders and feels her giggle against him. She looks up at him, ruby eyes wide with childish innocence and whole hearted excitement, admiration even. She looks at him as though he's carrying the moon to give to her, but the only thing he has to offer her are bloodstained hands and an armor darker than the night.)_

But time is fickle, a cruel host; for a little moment of respite, it claims an eternity of agony. The tidal wave always comes, at the end.

( _"Do you think Father will ever allow me to leave this Fortress?"_

_He looks down at her, only to find her staring back at him with doe-like eyes and slightly pursed lips. Her eyebrows are slightly furrowed, and he's far too well versed in masking his emotions not to recognize Corrin's inexperienced attempt at concealing her innermost worries. He can tell this issue has been weighing heavily on her for a long time, and all her hopes are pinned on the answer he has to give to her. On him._

_He lowers the history book he's been reading. He has long known this was bound to come up at some point in time._

_He just hoped it would be much, much later than sooner._

_"You don't like it here?"_

_The words taste like ash on his tongue and it takes all he has not to cringe, for what kind of a coward response is that? Neither the affirmative lie that she longs for, nor the negative truth that she dreads. A middle way that is neither here nor there. Pathetic._

_The corner of her mouth curls downwards. She's disappointed in him, as she should. Far, far less than she should. "No, I love it! There's a lot of space here, and a ton of books to pass the time, and Gunther and the servants are incredibly nice to me, it's just that it is a little bit…"_

_She trails off and drops her gaze, as though suddenly ashamed. Xander can put two and two together easily nonetheless._

_Lonely. Of course. Her whole world is limited to the same four walls she knows every little crevice of, her whole social life is comprised of four royals who struggle not to unravel at the seams when nobody's looking, three servants and an old knight with a grudge against the Crown. She's a teenager, nearing her marrying age, and yet she knows less of the world than Elise does. He can't blame her for not being satisfied with his stilted tales of distant lands and travels any longer, for wanting to see that world with her very own eyes._

_But what after she learns the truth? About the ones she was taught to call family, about the world, about herself? Would she want to go back, would she feel any desire to keep this routine?_

_The logical answer is obvious._

_The sword dangles over his head, inching down slowly but steadily. He has to make a choice, and he's not ready. He wishes things could stay like this, just a little longer._

_He's a fool._

_"I see," he lies, and every sense of self disgust is drown off by the beaming look Corrin rewards him with, brimming with hope. "If that's how you feel, I'll talk with Father on the matter."_

_She gasps, downright excited. She takes his hand in hers - silk and velvet against leather and iron, her touch is so so soft he nearly recoils - and holds it tightly._

_"Really? You would do that for me?"_

_What he_ wouldn't _do for her._

_"We're family, we stand together." he has the gall to say, and the worst is that part of him wants to believe it despite everything. He disentangles himself from her hold and stands up from the chair. "But if you want to get your freedom, you'll have to work to earn it."_

_Her face suddenly hardens, fiery determination setting her inhuman eyes ablaze. "Understood. What do I need to do?"_

_He studies her carefully, gauges her reaction. "I will supervise your training personally from here onwards. If you are so determined to fight your way out of here, your sword will know."_

_She beams, blissfully unaware of the turmoil tearing him apart from within, and for a moment it seems worth it.)_

An alarmed yell comes from the guarding towers all of a sudden.

"We're under attack!!"

And indeed, in the far off distance, a cloud of dirt and dust raises, wafts from the rhythmic footfalls of hundreds and hundreds of soldiers, heavy and deadly as they march and stomp and destroy. Xander squints harshly in the faint Nohrian sun to make out a banner, hoping against hope it's Camilla with the reinforcements.

But he knows this tune bouncing into his ears, thrumming into his veins, this deadly march that has been his one accompaniment for years on end.

"It's Iago," he states coolly, handing the telescope back to Ross. "Or whoever he has sent in his stead. I doubt he would expose himself so directly on the battlefield."

Beside him, Laslow groans in dismay. Peri, on the other hand, is grinning wildly, excitement and bloodthirst radiating off her in powerful waves.

"Can I kill them? Can I kill them?" She asks way too gleefully, like a child begging for a new toy, earning herself a disgusted look from Ross and many of his men. She doesn't seem to mind one bit.

"No." His response is harsh and unwavering, perhaps even too much. Peri flinches and her face falls, and a twinge of guilt makes his insides twist. "Remember, they are Nohrians as we are. We want to avoid spilling too much of our brothers' and sisters' blood. Defend yourself and defeat them, but do _not_ deal the killing blow if it isn't for self defense. Am I being clear?"

Ross scoffs haughtily and Peri grumbles in annoyance, crossing her arms tightly and eyeing him warily. Xander ignores Ross, somehow choosing to trust the seasoned warrior and believe he can find some mercy for the Nohrian soldiers, and instead focuses on the much more troublesome Peri. Eventually, after a couple of moments of exchanged glares and careful glances, she caves in.

"Crystal, Lord Xander, sir."

"Putting yourself purposely in danger to enact on the self defense is a no-no either," Laslow helpfully supplies, winking cheekily. "Just to be sure."

Peri rolls her eyes. “Spoilsport.”

“Come along, now,” Xander calls everyone back at the issue at hand. “We need to round up our troops and set out as soon as possible.”

He makes to turn away and head back the stairs leading down the watchtower, when a gruff scoff full of skepticism and distrust reaches him. He throws a pointed glare at the offending great knight.

“It’s far too late for a change of mind, Ross.”

The knight in scarlet armor spits to the floor. “So I should just let you go off on your own and leave us in this mess? No, I don’t think so.”

“Hey!! We’re not gonna leave!” Peri interjects, offended by the mere idea of avoiding the fighting. “We’re gonna fight and rip them to pieces before you even know it!”

“As the odds are now, we are at a sheer disadvantage,” Xander cuts her off evenly, “If we want to have a single chance to succeed, we absolutely need to conquer those Dragon Veins before Iago’s forces do.”

“Ah, yes, these so called _Dragon Veins_ that only the royals can sense and use. How very _convenient_ , isn’t it?” he sneers. “I won’t believe until I see it.”

“Oh for the gods’-”

Xander lifts an arm to put an end to Laslow’s incoming tirade. In truth, he shares Laslow’s sentiment, as he normally would never allow a lower ranking soldier to defy his instructions as blatantly as Ross would, but there is nothing normal in this situation, and he has to adapt. Keeping Cheve’s support is far more important than a few dents into his pride as general.

“I won’t waste any more time explaining what Dragon Veins are and their many uses,” he says flatly as he rises to his full height and steps over towards the insurgent knight, positively towering over him. Ross sustains his gaze, but as he lifts his head to keep eye contact Xander can see the first shadows of intimidation muddy his defiant attitude. “If you want to see it first hand, you’re welcome to join our party out of the walls.”

He doesn’t wait for Ross’s response this time around; he spins on his heels and briskly walks back to the stairway. Laslow and Peri exchange a look and a shrug as he breezes past them and hurry to follow suit.

Unfortunately, he would rather take Ross’s obstinate denial and suspicions than what is waiting for him outside the stables.

“I said _no_.”

“But why?!” Elise whines, clutching tightly at his right arm as to prevent him from climbing up his steed. “I could help you with the Dragon Veins, you can’t do everything alone-”

“I can and I will,” he snarls, prying off her hold and pushing her back as gently as he can. He instantly regrets his words as dismay and despair stain Elise’s youthful and still round face, and tears start welling up at the corners of her lilac eyes. Still, he can’t falter here. She _has_ to understand. He takes a deep breath. “Elise, do you remember at what condition I allowed you to stay in Cheve with me, rather than have you leave with Camilla?”

Elise sniffles and pouts, but she says nothing. Around them, the rest of the soldiers are finishing with the preparations. They’re going to leave for the outer, unprotected part of the town and its countryside very soon.

“ _Elise_.”

“ _Fine_. You made me promise I would stay safe at any given time and not wander off out of town,” she grumbles, “but-”

“No ‘buts’,” he cuts her off as he finally mounts with a swift and smooth movement. “A princess of Nohr must never go back on her word. We need you here, to take care of the injured.”

Elise opens her mouth to offer some rebuttal, but right in that moment two figures appear from behind the corner, red faced and panting from the effort, distracting Elise.

“Elise!!”

“Lady Elise!!”

“Effie! Arthur!” Elise gasps, now bearing the unmistakable signs of guilt she feels whenever she finds out her bouts of mischief have caused her beloved retainers some trouble. Then her face falls. “Ugh, you were far too quick to find me!”

Arthur laughs boisterously. “My fair Lady, you should know justice shall never be bamboozled for long.”

“You told us you were going at the apothecary, but there was no trace of you when I tore it apart, shelf after shelf,” Effie calmly states, as though shredding an entire shop with their bare hands is something perfectly common and normal for anyone to do. Xander allows a wry smile to quirk his lips upwards as he watches his little sister bicker playfully with her retainers.

“Effie, Arthur, I’ll entrust Elise in your capable care,” he eventually has to put an end to the light hearted moment. The two instantly change attitude, now serious and focused as proper retainers should be, and even Elise’s small smile withers in grimace. “Make sure that she stays put and no harm befalls her. That’s an order.”

"Xander!!"

Ignoring the protesting princess they dutifully serve, both Effie and Arthur nod firmly and bow, Effie with some difficulty born out of the cumbersome suit of armor she wears so effortlessly. Arthur nearly trips on his own feet, and would have likely fallen face first on the worn out pavement had he failed to grab onto Effie's elbow at the last second.

"Yes, Your Majesty." They chant in unison, then turn around. Arthur, very chivalrously, extends an arm for Elise to hold onto. "Come on, milady. We cannot make justice wait."

Elise dodges Arthur rather easily, but Effie gives her no chance to relish in her victory for long; in a flash, the princess is firmly secured into Effie's armored arms. Elise flails and thrashes and whines, her fists and heels clanking loudly against the metal, but Effie doesn't even notice her attempts at gaining her freedom back. Unflappable as ever, she salutes Xander in what would be a perfect military style if not for the captive princess still struggling to break free.

"Everything is under control, milord. You can rest at ease."

"I… see. I will leave the rest to you, then."

As he says that, he spurs his horse on, heading towards the plaza, where his troops are waiting for him. As Alec steadily shifts into a quick trot and is about to step out of hearing range when Elise's indignant voice reaches him again.

"This isn't over, Xander!" She screams, and he slows enough to cast a glance over his shoulder. She's still very much entrapped in Effie's protective grasp, but he has to commend her tenacity nevertheless. He has never seen Elise grapple with someone with such ferocity, especially an opponent who is so out of her league like Effie. "You hear me?! So you better not die!!"

He's too far to see clearly, and Elise is still moving too wildly in Effie's arms, but her tone is unmistakable and her voice cracks suspiciously on the last sentence she barks at him. She's crying.

Xander chuckles to himself and gallops away, saying nothing in return.

He's tired of making promises he can't keep.

* * *

They are outnumbered.

It comes to no surprise. It was accounted for. They had set out to conquer the Dragon Veins and overturn the unfavorable odds for this very reason. The power of a Dragon that can mold the earth and summon forth the force of the weather; with the ability of wielding that kind of power, even a single soldier can make all the difference.

What _does_ come to a surprise is-

"Milord, look out!!"

Laslow's warning is unnecessary; Xander neatly dodges the diving wyvern and the axe its rider is waving at him. With a swift swing of Siegfried, a beam of dark energy shoots from the blade and the wyvern's wing is severed from its gargantuan body, plummeting both mount and knight to the ground. They crash in a messy heap on the hard stone with a sickening noise of shattering bones and breaking iron, and never move again.

He likes to believe he would feel remorse, perhaps even some sympathy, in the name of the homeland whose blood floods in their veins. Perhaps he would have, back when he was young and foolish and too easily swayed, and his retainers had to give their life to protect his own.

There is no time for mourning, he tells himself. But his heart doesn't clench as he thought it would at the sight of the carpet of soldiers laying against the Chevois wastelands. _One enemy less._

More wyverns soar and dive at him, blocking his path towards the closest Dragon Vein. It's almost like they are knowingly protecting the pit of magic power, even though they wouldn't be able to recognize its presence. He has long stopped believing in mere coincidences.

_Daniela knows. She took the Dragon Blood._

If Daniela went as far as to ingest the vial of the blood of the Dusk Dragon that the royal family has been carefully keeping and preserving for centuries, he fails to see why Iago wouldn't have done the same. Meaning the surprise effect of the Dragon Veins has been cut to zero.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, parrying off an incoming cavalier equipped with a Beast Killer. The spear breaks under Siegfried's might and weight, and the young cavalier is sent sprawled to the ground with a scream.

He casts a cursory glance to his surroundings; each of his allies is currently engaged with three or four enemy units, their hands too full with trying to stay alive to be worrying about their fellow soldiers's safety. Although the casualty number among their ranks is significantly lower than their enemy's, it's only a matter of time before the sheer numbers of Daniela's forces overwhelm them, forcing them to retreat into the town. That would be a disaster.

He just needs to grab a hold of the Dragon Vein to decimate and weaken the enemy troops. Only once is enough.

He snaps on the reins and sends Alec into a mad gallop, pushing past the line his retainers are holding. Laslow is the first one to spot him, and to understand.

"Milord, wait!!"

He doesn't wait. If anything, he charges ahead even faster, leaving Laslow in the dust as the mercenary tries to give chase. Siegfried swings and claims life after life as it cleaves through the enemy ranks, now confused and scared by this apparently suicidal move.

And finally, the soldiers scatter enough for him to carve a path to the Vein. He raises his free hand, channeling the power of the first dragon of Nohr into his palm, causing it to resonate with the pool of power laying dormant into the ground. Sparks fly, lightning crackles and he feels the tremendous electric power surging up in response to his dragon blood. With a mere thought, the bolt of lightning flies and slams into where the enemy soldiers have tried to regroup into formation. Their screams as they are electrocuted and charred into ash are nightmarish.

But it's not enough. The rest of the enemy forces are rattled, but not yet enough to drop their weapons and surrender. Xander has to commend their stubborness. He prepares to unleash another strike.

Suddenly, the screech of a wyvern nearly breaks his concentration, and he lifts his head just in time to see a Wyvern Lord diving right at him, a spear held firmly into his hand and aimed right at his heart. Close, too close. He lifts his shielf in a last ditch attempt at defending braces himself for the unavoidable impact.

But it never comes.

Instead, something huge darts from the left side of the field, where the abandoned wasteland stretches and melts into shallow forests and underbrush; a silver and blue blur streaks through the enemy ranks, too fast for human eyes to see, toppling over many man in their mad dash. Then it leaps, maw wide open, displaying two rows of jagged, razor sharp teeth and fangs long as short swords, only for them to sunk into the neck of the wyvern, piercing through the thick scales like a knife cuts through butter.

The wyvern wails and thrashes, but to no avail. The silver dragon lands on its fours with a earth-shattering noise and starts to brutally shake its head, dislodging the rider and sending him flying. Xander can hear the squelching sound of the wyvern's sturdy neck tearing and ripping, of its head roll to the floor. In less than a second, the fight is already over.

At last, the beast turns its faceless snout to his, slowly. Thick and dark blood trickles from its gaping jaws, and for all he's far from queasy and unused to gory scenes, he's tempted to gag.

" _Corrin?!_ "

* * *

Faster. She needs to go faster.

That's all Corrin can think as she watches the Wyvern Lord soar up and then dive down on a very alone and exposed Xander. Her heart leaps in her throat, drowning off the clamor of battle surrounding them. Silas incites his new horse forward, breaking into a mad gallop that leaves Felicia, Kaze and Jakob behind.

But the distance is still far too wide. They're not going to make it by horse.

Her hand fumbling with the belt at her waist to grab hold of her dragonstone, Corrin jumps off the horse, startling Silas. She lands neatly on the balls of her feet, knees bent and ready to spring into a dash.

"Corrin!! That's dangerous! What are you-?"

She gives him no time to finish. The dragonstone in her fist glows and in a moment the blue light envelops Corrin, masking her from the cavalier's eyes. He gasps and groans as he lifts an arm to shield his eyes from the searing light. The horse whinnies in fright and rears up, nearly unseating Silas in the process.

She's barely aware of how her body stretches and bends to stay on all fours, hands and feets turning into sharp and curved claws, her neck growing long and slender as wide horns bloom out of her skull and her hair and eyes retreat into the scaly skin. Behind her, a long, spiked tail swishes and cuts through the air like a deadly whip.

Ignoring the usual wave of nausea and the unintelligible whispers filling her head and mouth, she pushes forwards, tearing through the battlefield at inhuman speed, uncaring of who or what she is running over, whether friend or foe. The only thing she can see, she cares about, are Xander and his attacker.

She jumps, intercepting the attack. And then everything turns black.

Her human consciousness wavers and flickers, and she only barely registers her mouth opening, her teeth sinking into hard flesh with little no difficulty. A scarlet haze clouds her judgment as she tears and shreds and kills with abandonment, relishing in the screams as the whispers grow in intensity, their mysterious chanting becomes louder and louder, until it's all she can hear anymore.

Until a voice breaks through, pulling her out of her daze.

" _Corrin?!_ "

_Xander._

Relief washes through her. He's safe. She has made it in time.

She's so happy she's even willing to ignore the awful taste filling her mouth and burning her throat, sour and foul like bile and iron. Unable to use her voice to speak, she nods. It's uncomfortable, hindered as she is by her enlarged size and cumbersome antlers, but as she lacks the ability to properly vocalize her thoughts in her dragon form, that will have to do.

He stares at her as though he can't quite believe his eyes, or perhaps he doesn't want to. Perhaps it's her distorted vision getting in her way, but he seems to be wary, even disgusted. She's suddenly keenly aware of the taste in her mouth and the wet substance dripping along the scales of her neck.

She's tempted to transform back, but right in that moment Silas and the others appear, reminding them that they are, indeed, in the middle of a battle. All the talking and explaining will have to wait for a better time.

Corrin digs her claws into the ground, opening deep rifts into the soil, and rears back, neck craned up high. A high pitched cry bubbles up into her mouth, causing many soldiers to clutch their heads and drop their weapons in surrender. The wyverns flying around hastily retreat, as survival instinct prevails over human military training. A puny wyvern would never dare to defy a dragon.

And that's all it takes to shatter the enemy's confidence. Before they know it, the Chevois and Nohrian joined forces gain ground over Daniela's soldiers, until the horns are blown and Daniela is forced to flee. They can see the billowing flag atop her mount weave up and down as she and her personal escort run for the proverbial hills, leaving many of her men behind and scrambling to find safety. The battle is won.

Or so she thought.

Lightning strikes all of a sudden, hitting her squarely in the chest. Her scales, so bulky and nearly impenetrable by normal weapons, are useless against the magic energy rippling through her, causing her muscles to spasm and her breath to seize. She lets out a pained, gurgling whine as her legs fold under her weight, and her massive form keels over with a booming noise, a small cloud of dirt wafting up and covering her from everyone's field of view. She vaguely feels the dragonstone glow and pulse, sucking the dragon's power into itself when her body becomes too weak to sustain it. She gasps for air, clawing at the ground with human hands that are too weak to even lift her up. Dark spots dance into her field of view, spreading like drops of ink into water.

"Corrin!!"

Someone holds her up with big, and yet gentle hands, rises her to a sitting position. She can't see who it is, and his voice is muffled, distorted by her shocked brain. He says something else, but she can't tell. She thinks she's being lifted as she feels something hook under her knees and shoulders. It feels safe.

"Hold on, Little Princess, please."

She hums, or at least she thinks she does. Maybe she's just dreaming. Maybe she's already dead.

She can't tell anymore.

* * *

"... Could be helpful…"

"... No, and it's final…"

Corrin frowns, disgruntled as the comfortable tendrils of sleep untangle from her laying body, leaving soreness and discomfort in its wake. Can't they try and be a little more quiet, for all the gods' sake?

She groans and shifts on the bed. It's unexpectedly comfortable. The two arguing voices immediately quiet down. Finally.

Then, after a while…

"Corrin? Are you awake?" The first voice asks timidly, far too timidly for its owner.

_Elise_.

It's like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water on her face. Sleep all but leaves her as reality settles in, her mind kicks into action as it replays the conversation with Ryoma, the trip with Hinoka, the mad chase all the way up to Cheve-

Eyes flying open, she jolts up in a sitting position. The covers slide off her shoulders, pooling at her waist and lap, and with a shiver she realizes someone had stripped her of her armor, leaving her with only her dark button down and short pants on. The first few buttons of her shirt are undone, revealing a few more bandages wrapped tightly around her chest that definitely weren't there before.

"Whoa," Elise says, narrowly dodging Corrin's rising forehead. "Take it easy. You've taken a heavy hit out there. You should still be resting."

Corrin curls her mouth in displeasure, already scanning the immediate vicinity for the familiar silver glint of her armor. There is no time to rest. She has to warn her family of the danger looming ahead, give her contribute to their cause. There is _so much_ she needs to be doing, and she has no second to waste on bedrest.

"No, Elise, you don't understand, I need to talk with Xander, _now_ ," groggily, she pulls away her covers and shifts to pull herself to her feet, gently pushing away Elise's attempts to keep her in bed. Her knees wobble dangerously, and she needs to grab on Elise's shoulder to steady herself. "He has to know- The Fire Tribe-"

"You need not to concern yourself with that matter." A second, deeper voice wafts from the darkest corner of the room, startling Corrin. She squints in the candlelight, straining to make out a large silhouette resting against the walls, blended into the shadows. "Silas has already informed me while you slept."

Xander shifts and slowly steps into the light. His face is sunken and dark shadow rim his bloodshot eyes, undeniable witness of many a sleepless night. A thin veil of stubble, light as his uncharacteristically unkempt hair, ghosts over his hollow cheeks and chin.

He looks like a ghost, an empty shell of the man he used to be.

Except his eyes. There is no mistaking the fury blazing through his maroon eyes like a summer wildfire. He is _outraged_.

"Oh. Good. Then-"

"I thought I had been clear, at the Canyon." He interrupts her, looking as though he's struggling not to burst and start yelling. "You were not to set foot in Nohr ever again, or else the gallow would await you. In the gods' name, _why_ are you here, Corrin?"

Corrin flinches, as though burned by the intensity of his demeanor alone. Her keen draconic eyes catch easily the fine tremors quaking his vast form as outrage in its purest and most bitter form radiates off him in powerful waves. Once again, like back at the Canyon, she's tempted to cower, to seek shelter behind Elise.

Instead, she clenches her teeth and stands up a little straighter, a little taller. She meets his eyes square on.

"I'm fighting for what is right. As you taught me."

Xander clicks his tongue, though the way his eyebrows pinch together speaks more of pain rather than anger. "There is no right or wrong, Corrin, only what we choose to believe in."

"Then I choose to believe the cause I'm fighting for is right." She counters easily. She's slowly growing steadier on her feet. Elise, still supporting Corrin, watches the exchange between her two older siblings, eyes darting back and fro from one to another like a game of badminton.

"And what cause do you want so desperately to give your life for?" Xander sneers bitterly, with a sardonic, mocking smirk that doesn't befit him.

"Yours."

Silence falls, stifling, uncomfortable. For the first time since she remembers, Xander looks truly bewildered, at a loss for words. Part of her feels a small twinge of pride to know she left the usually eloquent Crown Prince of Nohr utterly speechless.

She feels Elise's hand snake up and cradle Corrin's, squeezing tightly. The affection and gratitude imbued into that simple gesture reinvigorates Corrin, fills her with bravery. She detaches herself from Elise and takes a few slow steps towards Xander. Xander eyes her warily, but doesn't retreat.

"Ryoma told me everything. Of Iago. Of your precarious position in Nohr. Of your plan to conquer ir back. Of the deal you and him made behind my back to keep me out of the loop." She says, her own anger surging up as she remembers how miserable she felt the first few days in Hoshido, how betrayed she'd felt when Ryoma spilled all the beans and confessed to the elaborate ruse.

Xander has enough grace to actually look slightly remorseful. "If he did, then you will understand why I did what I did. Anywhere but Nohr would be better for you."

She scoffs. "And you expect me to sit and watch as you fight for your life and birthright? Not on my watch!"

She closes the distance between them, fists her hands into his scapula. The fine silk crumples in her clenched fingers. Xander doesn't react, doesn't move save for letting his eyes flutter close. He looks like a statue. Impassible and unmoving.

"Allow me to fight at your side, Xander." She pleads. "I can be of help. I _want_ to help you. Don't shut me out again."

Xander sucks in a breath. The agony and pain carving his face is clear as day.

"Corrin, you shouldn't," he begins, though he is nowhere as self-assured and confident as when this argument first began. "If you knew what's best for you, you'd turn on your heels and march back to Castle Shirasagi right this instant."

She shakes her head, her silver and frazzled curls flying around in every direction. "I decide what's best for myself! And that means staying and help my family when they need me! Isn't this what you've always done for me, Xander? For all of us? What you've constantly told me and Leo and Elise as we grew? Then why won't you let me put your teachings in practice?"

She bangs her fist lightly on his chest. They bounce off his sturdy chestplate with no damage. He seems to take no notice; all anger seems to be seeping out of him, melting away, only to be replaced by a fathomless exhaustion, as though the whole world is weighing down on him, and he can't quite endure it any longer.

"You should be in Hoshido. You should be safe and sound, away from any harm," he murmurs. Corrin wonders if he's speaking to her or he's just talking to himself. He looks distant. Ancient.

Another beat of silence falls. Corrin waits with bated breath.

Then Elise speaks up again.

"Xander, she _could_ help," she begins hesitantly, flinching ever so slightly when both Corrin and Xander whirl around to look at her, pinning her down with their incensed stares, one hopeful, the other despairing. Still, true to the blood running in her veins, she puts up a brave front and plasters the brightest smile of her repertoire on her face. "I mean, Corrin is an amazing fighter and the two of you work spectacularly well. I bet nobody would be a match to you two if you paired up!!"

She beams, and although the lack of verbal response is a little discouraging, she still catches the light blushes tinging both Corrin's and Xander's cheeks and ears.

"Besides, there is only Flora and me who can use a staff here," she goes on, more soberly. "We both could really use Jakob's and Felicia's help."

Xander grimaces visibly, and Elise grins. She knows this is a point that really counts. Payback for that time at the Canyon.

"Of course, we all are at your service," Corrin sees the opening too and is all too quick to jump it. "After all, it would be a waste not to use this dragonstone, right?"

Xander arches an eyebrow.

"You despise making use of your draconic form." He says flatly, and she winces because that's simply too true. Still, she has a point to make and she refuses to budge.

"You're not the only one who will do whatever you must do to protect your family. I will use everything I have and that I am to keep my loved ones safe."

"Come on, Xander!" Elise pipes up again, puppy eyes already in place, "It'll be alright!"

Xander pinches the bridge of his nose, eyebrows scrunched together in pain.

"This is not a game, Elise. There is no undoing and retrials if something were to go wrong."

"Then it won't! It's as simple as that!" The youngest princess of Nohr retorts cheerfully.

"Please," Corrin begs again, redirecting the prince's attention on herself once more. Perhaps it's a trick of the light, but she thinks she sees his eyes softening as he looks down to regard her. "Don't send me away. I'll follow you anywhere. I'll do anything you ask of me."

"Anything, you say?" He repeats slowly, suddenly looking shrewd and knowing. Corrin feels like a fly who has walked into the spider's web. Still, she's not backing down.

"Anything."

"Then pledge your faith to me. Swear on your honor and life that your loyalty rests with me, that you will do what I order you to without objection."

_Something is off with that request_ , Corrin thinks. She glances back at Elise and finds her staring suspiciously at her older brother. She probably feels something is out of place as well, but, like Corrin, can't really tell what.

But if it's the only way to be allowed in… she'd do anything.

"I do."

Xander stays quiet for a long moment, regarding her with such intensity she almost drops her gaze. Then-

"You can stay."

"Really?" Both Corrin and Elise gape at him. The corners of his mouth tremble, as though struggling not to curl into a smile.

"Indeed. I know when I'm beaten, and you two brought up good points. I will allow Corrin and her retainers to stay, for the time being."

"Oh Xander, thank you so much!" Corrin sobs and wraps her arms around him in a embrace that would probably crack a few of his ribs were it not for his armor suit. "I'm so glad! I will not disappoint you!"

"I know you won't." He says without a smile, not quite returning her affectionate gesture. "And do not waste time thanking me. I have done you no favor. In fact, quite the opposite."

She blinks and looks up at him quizzically. He gently, but firmly pry her arms off him.

"We're leaving for the border tomorrow morning. Make sure you rest properly." He steps away, reaching for the door. "With your permission, there are a few issues I must attend to."

And like that, he's gone.

"What did he mean by that?" She wonders out loud as she lets Elise lead her back to the bed for a checkup and a change of bandages. Elise's cheerful attitude drops. She now fully realizes how tired Elise looks. She even looks like she has lost quite a bit of weight.

"I don't know." Elise replies, grabbing her faithful staff and pouring white magic into it. All of Corrin's sores are instantly soothed. "He's been like that since we beat Anankos. He's been getting broodier and sadder with every passing day. I know something is on his mind - something _big_ \- but he simply… shuts everything and everyone off. I really don't know what's up with him."

Elise snaps a strip of clean bandages with a little too enthusiasm.

"But now you're here," she goes on, with a beaming smile. "And I know everything is going to be fine. We're gonna sort this out together, right, big sister?"

But although Elise's smile is bright and cheerful, Corrin doesn't miss the desperate tone underlying her words.

"Of course," she lies absently, still staring intently at the door Xander has disappeared behind. "We are getting to the end of this."

She has a bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, this was a real tour de force! I wanted to update desperately to finish this first arc off before I go in a hiatus. I don't think it'll be a long one, I need to sort out some stuff, both for this fic and in RL, but it needs to be done and I didn't want to leave before having Corrin and Xander have a talk. It's a long road yet for the two of them from now on, but hey, at least now they're on the same side of the world! It's progress!!
> 
> Lol jokes aside. I'm taking a break, and then I think the updates will go slower, roughly biweekly, I'd say. Let's see how long can I stick to a regular schedule lmao I suck at planning.
> 
> Anyhow, thank you for reading!! Feel free to leave your thoughts if you feel like!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo guess who's back! I know that everyone here is hyped for Three Houses (me too, I mean, Edelgard is so cool, Dimitri is a sweetie patootie and Claude has swag for days. What's there not to love??? ~~Pls don't spoil post-time skip stuff. I have been avoiding them like a ninja~~ ) so I thought I would pick this fic back up once again.
> 
> Not the best chapter ever, but I think it can work. Let me know if you agree or don't.

The _nerve_ of him, Corrin thinks angrily, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw actually hurts, as she slowly marches on, trudging through the uneven paved path that connects the Chevois rebels’ headquarters to the Nohrian border wall, and stumbles on a misplaced stone every so often. Wearing no shoes does have its downsides, after all.

Still, the roughness of the path is likely the last of the concerningly long list of worries that is currently troubling Corrin’s mind. On the other hand, what has been upsetting her the most since they left Cheve a couple of days ago is-

“You’re sulking again.”

Corrin nearly jumps out of her skin and immediately straightens up, her hand flying to the hilt of her sword out of sheer instinct. She didn’t realize she was so caught up in her thoughts to actually tune out and lose track of her surroundings. She lets go of the Yato and plasters a weak smile on her face.

“What? No, no, I’m fine. I’m perfectly alright.”

Elise’s eyebrows pinch together, drawing deep creases in the middle of her forehead that should _never_ mar Elise’s skin. It’s in instances like these that the underlying resemblance between the youngest princess of Nohr and her older siblings eventually shines through, and Corrin can see Xander in her furrowed brow, Camilla in the slight purse of her lips, Leo in the way her eyes narrow in skeptical disbelief.

And that is the way it’s supposed to be, isn’t it? After all, _they_ are _true_ siblings, the same blood runs through their veins, they are tied together, they _belong_ to Nohr, to each other.

_Unlike you_ , a tiny, bitter voice supplies unhelpfully in her head. Her already unstable facade fades away and a scowl takes its place. Where did that come from?

The soft sound of Elise heaving a sigh breaks through her spinning thoughts, and she clutches on it, holds onto it like a lifeline to ground herself to the reality surrounding her. She has no time to get distracted by unwarranted bitterness.

Not that Elise seems able to provide any relief on that matter, for once. Instead, she looks about as upset and frustrated as Corrin is feeling.

"You're just like Xander, you know?" Elise blurts out, shaking her head in a condescending manner that doesn't fit her young age but is born out of experience, and Corrin's heart skips a beat. "You two always have to take the front line and throw yourself headlong into danger. You just loathe to get stuck here in the rearguard with the rest of us."

Corrin's cheeks warm up. The subtle, underlying bitterness, almost an accusation, doesn't go unnoticed, as well as the dirty look Effie throws at her over her shoulder from where she's marching a short way ahead of the two princesses. She reaches up to grab one of Elise's gloved hands and gives it a light, comforting squeeze.

"Oh Elise, I'm sorry. It's not like I don't appreciate being here with you," she says, smiling with more conviction. "It's just…"

She trails off. It's what, exactly? Frustration, because she was relegated to protect Elise and the rest of the numbered healers their army has? No, that can't be it. She may not be the most seasoned general, but she has enough experience to know how truly crucial of a role it is, especially when the ones who can wield a staff are so few. It's not a task to feel ashamed of.

Still, her eyes wander ahead and she finds herself lingering on the tall figure at the forefront of the formation. Even this far behind, even in the progressively dimmer light as they make their way towards Nohrian territory, she can make out Xander's clean cut figure as he rides ahead, firm and unyielding and commanding, surrounded by the Nohrian and Chevois cavalry. Of course, Silas is there as well, as he used to serve directly under Xander in Nohr's army before he defected to join Corrin's forces. It makes sense that the general would want his long time underling back with him.

_Of course_ , he would also order Corrin to stay behind and assign her to guard the rear. Obviously, she ought to have expected this. It's not like she has fought battle after battle, struggling to prove her worth and bring an era of peace between two countries that have been more or less cordially detesting each other for decades.

But, even though that would be enough to leave her seething and foaming at the mouth on its own, what really stings is that Xander had no qualms deploying _Kaze_ in the scouting party. But gods forbid if Corrin were to take a more involved role in the upcoming battle, apparently.

Corrin's less than flattering thoughts must have bled through her face, because Elise shakes her head once again.

"It's ok, big sister, I understand." She says with a carefully crafted shrug that fools nobody, and the glare Effie sends Corrin is enough to make her eternally grateful that looks can't kill. “I don’t really like it either.”

“Elise…”

“I don’t really like _any_ of this,” Elise goes on, dropping Corrin’s hand to gesture at the rows of heavily armored soldiers marching orderly onward through the unkempt fields and uneven terrains. It’s a rather small contingent by standard warfare, she supposes, but Corrin knows better than anyone to never rely excessively on numbers alone. After all, the force she led into Valla was far sparser than this in the first place. “I’m tired of marching from a battle to the other, always wondering and praying to see my family again… I just want to go back when things were fine and we could spend our days together at the fortress like a family and…”

Corrin freezes. A weird current runs throughout her body, setting every cell on fire and cutting the connection between her limbs and her brain, and it’s just by some sort of miracle that she manages not to fall face first to the ground when her feet trip and tangle over each other. Elise gasps as she realizes what she just said, a hand flying up to cup her now gaping mouth. Her wide, doe-like eyes grow impossibly big and in an instant tears are welling up at the base of her long lashes.

“Gods, I… sorry, I…”

“It’s okay,” Corrin lies mechanically, her mouth working without any input from her brain as the ever so familiar instinct to protect Elise from any sort of sorrow or pain kicks in once more. She catches sight of a tear sliding down, drawing a glittery streak across Elise’s still rather round cheek. “Really, it is. Your visits never failed to brighten my days. I'm grateful for those times we spent together."

It’s not a _complete_ lie, Corrin tells herself. She used to genuinely, thoroughly enjoy every precious moment of company she was oh so generously regaled, and now that she knows first hand how truly engaging and time consuming is to lead an army and a faction she appreciates even more acutely the sheer efforts her siblings did to even afford dropping by as often as they did. She’s not lying when she says she’ll cherish those moments for the rest of her life.

And yet, she cannot possibly deny the bitter longing that filled her whenever they would leave and she was to be left behind once again, with only silence to wrap itself around her and pull her into its embrace. Resentment, even, when all she could do was gaze out of her window and watch their backs grow smaller and smaller until they were but tiny blurs into the Nohrian darkness, all the while the same questions twirled in her mind.

_Why?_

Even now, after the many earth-shattering revelations she and Azura worked so hard to bring to light, she can't help but feel unsatisfied with some of the answers. It feels like there's still something she's missing, like the final piece in a jigsaw; something so vital that she can't truly make heads or tails of the picture unfolding in front of her eyes, she can't see the entire picture, and it's frustrating to no end.

All of a sudden, a blinding pain flashes through her temples, quick and searing hot like the blade of a dagger bring thrust all the way through her skull and then slowly, painstakingly pulled out. On instinct, her hands fly up to cradle her head, her fingers fisting and pulling at her long silver tresses so tightly she can feel the roots of her hair popping out of her scalp. She scrunches her eyes closed, tears already welling up at the corners as a sudden wave of nausea makes her knees tremble and stumble.

"Corrin? Are you alright?" Elise asks, alarmed, pulling her horse to a sudden stop and attracting the attention of everyone nearby.

"Lady Corrin!" Jakob is instantly at her side and wastes no time whipping up his faithful healing staff. "Is something the matter? Are you ill?"

Corrin waves a hand dismissively, trying to ignore the shrill whistle filling her ears. "I'm fine. It's just a little headache. It'll pass."

"We have been marching the entire day with no reprieve, after all," Felicia interjects timidly, eyeing Corrin as though worried she might drop unconscious at any given moment. "Perhaps you have yet to fully recover from your injuries. A little rest would help."

"Of course! I will go ahead and notify Lord Xander-"

Corrin's arm shoots out and her hand latches like a vice over Jakob's wrist, cutting him off. To his credit, when he glances down at her there is no trace of discomfort to be found, even if she's positive she's using enough strength to bruise.

"Don't. There is no need for that. I'm fine."

The gods only know what would happen if they were to stop their advance because of a stupid little migraine of hers. Xander already doesn't take her seriously anymore as of now, for some unfathomable reason, she _really_ doesn't need to give him yet another motivation to sideline her.

Jakob looks mutinous. "Milady-"

"I said _no_ ," she shakes her head to further make her point across. Her temples throb, but she manages to smile through the pain. "I'm fine, it's already gone. Now let's get back moving before we fall too behind."

She disentangles herself from Jakob's protective hold and steps forward, hurrying to catch up to Elise's retainers and the rest of the army. Once she has put a few feet in between herself and the worrywart healers, she finally feels safe to reach for the thin chain hanging at her neck, her fingers fumbling clumsily with the collar of her shirt as she fishes out Azura's pendant. Despite the many hours spent at direct contact with her flesh, it's still cool in the palm of her gloved hand. The aquamarine gemstone glitters gleefully in the dying sunrays.

And before she knows it, a familiar tune bubbles up to her lips, steady and unstoppable like the rising tide.

_"You are the ocean's grey waves…"_

* * *

She can't sleep.

Corrin supposes she shouldn't be that surprised, considering they'll be engaging in a major battle in a few hours. It's natural that adrenaline runs high the night before a fight, causing sleep to escape like water through her grasping fingers, even when every joint in her body is sore and her muscles beg for rest.

She huffs and sits up on her bedroll, finally fed up of staring at the ceiling of her tent, and she reaches once again for the pendant, cradling it into both her hands. She smiles as the blue gem glints softly in the light of the camp filtering through the thin walls of her tent, the very same blue of Azura's hair. It feels like she carries a tiny bit of the vallite princess herself, tucked away beneath her clothes and close to her heart, ready to sing a lullaby to soothe her nerves. She's grateful; it makes her feel a little better, less lonely.

With a smile, she slides the pendant back under her gown and pushes the cover off herself. The Nohrian cold immediately bites ferociously into her flesh, piercing through the flimsy barrier the soft cotton provides as though it isn't even there and she shivers violently as she stands up, rummaging through her bundle of clothes to fish out her thick, woolen cloak.

"Should have brought a heavier gown, fool that I am."

Now finally ready to face the Nohrian ever present chilly winds and gales, she pushes the flap open and steps out.

Camp is quiet, sure, but not as much because of sleep rather than the tension preceding a fight, the very same that is keeping her up in the first place. She can see groups of soldiers hunched in the shade of the tents, silent and gaunt as they look at the night sky and wonder if they'll ever see it again. She sees others sneak past in pairs and find cover in the nearby underbrush, and all her curiosity is snuffed out when her heightened ears catch a soft moan escaping he bushes. She blushes all the way up the root of her hair, all thoughts of cold promptly forgotten, and hurries past. That's way too much information.

Still, as she makes her way through the camp she can't help but notice how some soldiers would hold hands, or grab on each other, exchanging small and soft touches every so often as they chat and seek warmth, the kind of heat no mere fire can provide.

She flexes her fingers - bare, as she forgot to grab her gloves on the way out of her tent - and brings up her hands to cup her mouth, blowing hot air on her palm and rubbing vigorously. It hurts.

She's at the outskirt of camp when her ears catch another pair of voices waft out of the tree line, a few feet away, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when she realizes the deep baritone belongs to none other than Xander's. Her heart skips a beat as her mind flies back to the flirting couples she's seen retiring into the thick of the forest's canopy, and for what reasons. Could he have taken a secret lover, and didn't even bother to tell her?

For some reason she herself can't quite put her finger on, the thought leaves a bad taste in her mouth. She has always known the day would eventually come for Xander and Camilla to take a spouse, but never she had stopped to consider it would happen like this, on a battlefield, a bond forged in camaraderie and mutual trust and...

But the second voice is gruff and masculine and, by far more importantly, definitely angry. Threatening even. Interest piqued once again for wholly different reasons, Corrin carefully dives into the underbrush and follows the arguing voices all the way to a small clearing. Not that it's hard to; Xander's companion is certainly not bothering to keep his voice down, unlike Xander himself.

Moving slow, careful as to avoid making unnecessary noise, she takes shelter behind a thick tree, allowing her to see without being seen.

Xander's profile is easily recognizable, even in the poor moonlight, all sharp angles and stark shadows carving his prematurely wrinkled face, making him appear way older than he actually is. His stance is firm and unmoving, composed and rigid. Similar to Ryoma, just by standing still he exudes authority and might in powerful waves in a way Corrin never managed to replicate.

On the other hand, Ross seems nowhere near as collected as Xander is.

"It's likely that bitch-" here Corrin gasps ever so slightly, scandalized - not by the derogatory term per se, which she herself has heard on camp more times than she could count, but by the fact Ross has openly cursed in front of a member of the aristocracy, the future king no less. That has to breach at least a dozen etiquette rules all at once. "-has already received reinforcements at the border wall. We're fucked! And it's all because we had to wait for your precious little pet to recover before pressing forward."

Corrin feels her stomach churn violently as guilt washes over her. She hadn't realized her actions would end up putting Xander's operation in jeopardy. How long exactly was she out? Elise wouldn't tell her, no matter how many times she asked, and would always find a way to divert the conversation to safer topics. Corrin wonders if Xander instructed her to keep quiet as not to have Corrin feel too responsible.

She shakes her head. Frankly speaking, she has had quite enough of always being coddled and protected.

"It is highly unlikely. Daniela may not be on par with Leo's tactic prowess, but she is still a skilled strategist in her own right. She probably gathered her forces at the border wall and only sent a small contingent to attack us at Cheve, as to whittle down our forces and draw us out to a favorable terrain for herself." Xander replies evenly, unperturbed, as though completely detached from the situation he's describing in such detail. Corrin feels a pang of envy stab her through her chest. She _wishes_ she could bring herself to be so poised and rational at all times.

Ross scoffs in haughty skepticism. "And if that's the case, do you really think we'll manage to square off with a whole battalion of generals and paladins and live to tell the tale?"

"You're forgetting a very relevant detail."

The Chevois's face darkens dangerously. "I thought you said Daniela can use Dragon Veins too now?"

"I'm quite positive she has taken Dragon Blood and thus is able to spot Dragon Veins herself," Xander explains patiently, "but I have reasons to believe she can't quite harvest their powers just yet. The mastery of a dragon's power is an art that require years of attuning and training, and Daniela lacks both."

"How _wonderful_ , innit? It's not as though we're heading straight towards a crushing defeat."

Xander arches an eyebrow at the blatant sarcasm. "I believed Chevois knights took pride in their skill on the field?"

"We do! Chevois ain't no sissies!" Ross barks, trembling in outrage, his long hair swishing wildly into the breeze. He stalks forward, pushing into Xander's personal space, making the unflattering height difference between the two even more obvious. Xander looks down at him, utterly unperturbed. "We aren't afraid to die, as long as we have a _worthy_ cause."

Something shifts in Xander's attitude, for the first time since Corrin has been watching the exchange. He tenses up, his scowl deepens and Corrin could swear she saw his hand twitching, most likely to reach for Siegfried's hilt at his hip.

"We have a deal." He says, voice low and threatening like a roll of thunder in the far off distance. A chill runs down Corrin's spine, goosebumps that have little to do with the cold litter her flesh.

To his credit, Ross doesn't bat an eye.

"Yes." He says flatly, "And I'll make damn sure you keep your end of the bargain, _Your Majesty_."

Without breaking eye contact, Ross spits to the ground, only narrowly missing the tip of Xander's boots. Then he spins on his heels and storms out of the clearing. Corrin has just the time to duck and flatten herself against the trunk of the tree providing her cover that the Chevois knight is rushing past her hiding spot on his way back to camp. He's absolutely fuming.

Silence falls, broken only by the rustling of the leaves as the wind breezes through the branches and the occasional hooting of an owl nearby. Her heart hammering in her throat, Corrin slowly rises up to her feet, taking a hopefully silent step to get away and back to the tent-

"You may come out now, Corrin."

She yelps and nearly stumbles on a nearby raised root. Once she's regathered her balance, she timidly peeks her head around the tree. Xander is staring right at her, stern and imposing as ever. 

Heaving a sigh, she straightens up and steps out of her hiding place, in clear view.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to listen in on you." She says when she has approached him, noticing how truly disappointed he looks as he stares down at her, frowning and with his arms crossed. "I apologize."

"It is unbecoming of someone of your status. I expect better from one of my soldiers. What are you even doing, wandering around so late into the night like this? It is suspicious, not to mention recklessly dangerous. You don't even have your weapon with you."

Her cheeks burn in shame and rage. Rich of him to call her a soldier of his and then go out of his way keep her out of the front line. She ducks her head down and clenches her fists tightly at her sides.

"I'm _sorry_." She spits out through clenched teeth, unable to take the humiliation and hating herself for it. "I just… couldn't sleep. I thought a nightly stroll would help soothing my nerves."

"A stroll in the woods?"

He sounds thoroughly unimpressed. She's suddenly very aware of her bare feet and ankles, dirty and bearing scratch marks where the low twigs and bushes have torn her skin. The hem of her light gown is not in any better shape.

"I heard arguing." She says as though that's an excuse. "I was worried."

"You need not to worry about this trivialities." Xander shots her down easily. She flinches.

"He was being incredibly rude and disrespectful. I don't know why in the world you're allowing his attitude to slide."

At this, Xander's irritation seems to shift and morph into mere exhaustion. His shoulders sag ever so slightly, his back hunches an inch forward, as though he's carrying the burden of the world on it and he's about to collapse under its overwhelming weight. On instinct, she grabs on his arm as though to offer support, to not let him fall.

"He has valid reasons not to trust me, or any Nohrian for that matter. Regardless, we absolutely need Cheve's military strength if we want to have a chance at dethroning Iago before he accomplishes what Father had set out to do and destroys Nohr from the inside. I will gladly accept all forms of slight and insult if it means he and his formidable men will stay and fight alongside us."

"He mentioned a deal. Did you strike a bargain with him?"

He stiffens, and a muscle in his jaw jumps, like he always when he's wounded but refuses to acknowledge the severity of his injury. Corrin has seen him pull this stunt far too many times to fail to notice it, especially from this close.

"Long before Nohrian occupation, Cheve used to be an independent county that made the mercenary way of life into a fine art." He explains wearily, "From all over the continent,the best swordsmen for hire gathered at the border between Nohr and Hoshido and instituted schools and guilds entirely dedicated to maintain the purity ofthe profession. It was not uncommon for nobles or royals to employ such mercenaries, regardless of their nationality. As long as they received their pay and their honor as hired knights was not compromised, they did not care for whom they lent their services."

She frowns in disdain. As interesting as the little history class can be, she can't fathom why would someone willingly choose to sell themselves, their skill and morality and probably their life itself, for riches. She definitely wouldn't be able to live like that.

"And you hired them?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose so, yes."

Xander's tone is even and collected as always, but something feels off. There's is something he is not telling her.

"What have you promised then in return? Gold?"

His face instantly darkens.

"That," he whispers and once again Corrin feels that sense of foreboding, of impending doom assault her stomach, tying and twisting her innards in tight knots. "Is none of your concern."

"But-"

He gently pries himself free of her grasp - she hadn't realized she has been holding onto his arm until now - and steps away.

"Enough of this. Tomorrow is going to be a trying day, and we both need rest. Come now, I shall escort you back to your tent."

Without waiting for her response, he whirls on his heels and makes to dive back into the shallow treeline, making it clear this conversation is well over.

Except it's most definitely _not_.

"Can I fight at your side, tomorrow?"

He stops instantly.

"Corrin…"

" _Please_ ," she pleads, all her bottled up frustrations finally pouring out of her chest once again. "I can fight too. You know better than anyone what I can do, you taughtme everything I know, for the gods' sake! Or do you not believe I'm skilled enough for your standards?"

"It's not a matter of lack of skill, Corrin, you can rest assured." He's quick, even too quick, to put her worries at ease. She decides to believe him this time around.

"Then why? Why don't you trust me?"

Xander grimaces visibly, his lips parting as though about to say something, perhaps another lie, perhaps a confession, but for a long moment no word come out of his mouth.

"I do trust you, Corrin. As a matter of fact, I'm perhaps relying on you far too much for my liking."

That has her arching her eyebrows. "How so?"

He looks away, an unspeakable pain etched deep in every line on his face.

"This is war, Corrin. Every fight might be our last. I need you to promise that, should something befall me and Camilla, you will regroup with Leo and take him and Elise to safety in Hoshido. Considering the growing sympathies between Leo and prince Takumi and Sakura's friendship with Elise, I don't believe it will be much of an issue, especially with your recommendation."

She recoils, eyes growing wide and mouth gaping in shock. A dull ache makes itself known in her temples, but she ignores it. She has no time for that.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am. Promise me you will follow your orders should the worst happen."

She's tempted to say no, to protest, but all it takes is a look and she knows she has lost. He's too tired, too desperate, and she can't quite bring herself to deny this one request to him. Eventually, she nods reluctantly. He smiles, though Corrin notices it dies well before it can reach his eyes.

"Very well. Now we'd better be on our way before the night escapes us."

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and nearly drags her away by force, his long strides carrying them back to camp in record time. They don't talk much on the way, each lost in their own thoughts and worries.

As soon as she's alone and in the safety of her tent, Corrin has made a vow to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xander is still secretive and a dick to Corrin, and Corrin is still a naive, sometimes downright immature brat. Get used to it, those character traits will stay a little longer.
> 
> Also, I know I'm not subtle at all so I wouldn't be surprised if you guys already figured our what exactly is up with Xander. It definitely isn't easy to drop hints without revealing it all.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts if you feel like it!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading, and see you on the next chapter very soon!


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